


Ice and Fire

by Karracaz



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [6]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Star Trek: TOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 43,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karracaz/pseuds/Karracaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek and Amanda Grayson meet...but is it for the first time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kind of Magic

One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal

One golden glance of what should be...

It's a kind of magic.

o0o

Amanda knew magic happened – though it was difficult to predict where or how or when. But at the age of twelve she intuitively recognised that before any enchantment began there were certain identifying signals - the air grew still, time froze while the Universe held its breath - and in that glorious instant between one inhalation and the next - things changed forever.

Travelling in the back of her father's plush imported Bentley antigrav fastback on the way to a piano lesson at the private and very prestigious Pacific Heights Music Academy, she had looked up in surprise when Thomas, her father's driver, and Amanda's closest friend, suddenly exclaimed, "Well look at that…."

Beneath the round brim of a blue school hat perched impudently on the back of her head, wisps of curly auburn hair glowed where it escaped the silk rope of her braid. The azure ribbon tied up in a bow at the end of each plait exactly matched her eyes. Small for her age, but sturdy, the new tailored uniform jacket sat awkwardly large across her wiry shoulders. As Thomas slowed the vehicle and the window whirred down, Amanda obligingly leaned forward chin resting on the back of white, lace-gloved fingers as she clasped the seat in front. Her interested gaze followed that of the driver to the commotion ahead.

A substantial earthquake in 2025 had destroyed much of San Francisco for the second time. Despite the damage, extensive reconstruction in recent years had restored much of the charm of an earlier age. The renowned Golden Gate Bridge again spanned the bay, trams and streetcars ran up and down California and Hyde Street – a magnet for tourists from half a dozen worlds. Even Ghiradelli's Chocolate Company had re-established premises in Ghiradelli Square.

"What is it, Thomas? What's happening?"

A cluster of people, mostly Terrans but with at least two Centaurans and an Andorian quad, were gathered outside the open gates of an ornate Victorian mansion. One of San Francisco's 'painted ladies', a gaudy gingerbread confection of russet walls and white stucco, the stately beauty surveyed all before her with dignified indifference.

"The Vulcans are moving in by the looks of it." He pulled up opposite the Consulate and let the fastback settle. On the other side of the street, a plain but official looking carrier hunched with its rear doors flung wide. Workers in drab brown one-piece coveralls were hurrying to and fro unloading curiously shaped objects and pieces of strange furnishings.

Amanda leaned further out the window, gawping as her father would have put it, through the Consulate's gates with wide-eyed curiosity. Through the grand entrance to the mansion she had a magnificent view of the bay far below, the blue water glinting in the fickle morning sunshine. Despite the changeable weather, there clearly came the sound of parrots calling to one another from the trees lining the road and further away the sweet, muted clang-clang of a cable car in the next street.

As she watched, a gaggle of small children, chaperoned by two adult females, decanted from another parked transport and walked demurely up the drive, possibly on their way to school as she was, Amanda decided. They were Vulcan children and Vulcan women - bundled up in what seemed layers and layers of thick clothing, wide trousers and long skirts – all beneath somber hooded robes, the material swirling about booted ankles in the breeze off the bay.

Dressed in equally concealing attire, another Vulcan, taller than the women by an inch or so, and broader at the shoulder, came out of the residence apparently to greet them. He descended the broad sweeping steps that led into the garden, posture elegantly erect and his stride purposeful.

But the breeze wanted to play. It teased the garden foliage, dragged at the high gate and the doors of the carrier, caught mischievously at the newcomer's generous sleeves and ample hood. flipping the concealing material back onto his shoulders to reveal his profile.

And that's when it happened…

The breeze flipped the concealing material back from the Vulcan man's shoulders and revealed his profile. A wan shaft of sunshine struck his dark hair. The light gleamed, emphasizing the short unruly locks that curled forward onto his brow.

The noise of the city faded for Amanda as the world stilled. Even in a crowd, he held a compelling presence. An air of isolation shrouded his tall figure more than the cloak he wore. Her focus narrowed on his alien features, on the ears that tapered gracefully at the tip. They were the ears of a faerie prince, a warrior elf from perilous realms, exotic and mysterious. He had sallow skin that spoke of strange, much warmer climes and his taut lips were generous beneath an aquiline nose. Not at all a kind face, it demanded all her attention and she could not look away.

And evidently responsive to her surveillance, his head turned in her direction. For one, long searching moment, his glance met hers, his look intense but enigmatic. Strong black brows like upswept raven's wings knitted together in a sudden frown. Amanda saw his lips constrict, not in anger she realised but in a shock that mirrored her own.

A dazzled fawn in the headlights of a speeding automobile, Amanda remained mesmerized - until Thomas activated the antigrav and shattered the rapture that held her spellbound. As the fastback manoeuvred into the on-coming traffic, the Vulcan tugged his recalcitrant hood back over his head, concealing his features once more. Amanda only glimpsed that tantalizing face for a moment, but she never forgot it.

It was the first time she remembered seeing Sarek s'kahri, ansh'oine t'skon kah T'Phra and the world changed forever, shaped by magic.

o0o


	2. Amanda's Vulcan

The second time Amanda thought she saw him was at the San Francisco International Space Terminal. She paced the floor nervously beside the rain-spattered windows of the departure lounge. No matter how many times she left Sol III, the take off and departure always remained exciting.

Although in recent years she had travelled frequently to the moon, the Human settlements on Mars and Alpha Centauri, even visited Talish, an Andorian colony world, as the time to leave approached, she became aware of a pleasurable tension, a nervous fluttering deep in the pit of her stomach. Unable to relax, Amanda glanced at her chrono, her attention half on the flight computer's metallic voice, half on the untidy cluster of other passengers gathered before the automated doors that led out to the spaceport carrier. Time was rapidly running out.

Professor Kulren had vid-phoned her only moments ago to say that he would be at the Terminal to give her a few last minute instructions and see her safely onto the shuttle. But if he did not hurry, the carrier would leave before he got there.

Amanda recalled the incredible moment, only two days before when the professor had called her into his office. He had looked up from under his bushy brows as she entered his inner sanctum, smiled perfunctorily, and indicated the chair across from him with a wave of the hand. As she settled into the soft, tan fabric, he said easily, "How would you like to take a trip to Vulcan, Amanda."

At her shocked expression, he allowed another rare smile to tease his thin lips. Then in the irascible way that was both famed and feared by staff and students alike, he outlined the proposal made by the Federation Cultural Institute to the Vulcan High Council, which allowed the placement of a delegate on that planet.

"You have one of the finest degrees in the Department," he told her. "And I'm not one of those professors who like to waste his best intellects in simple administrative routines. Here's a challenge for you. I think you are worthy of it."

"You're really giving the assignment to me, sir?"

"Yes, really, I am! I know the interest you've always taken in Vulcan culture. The University will pay all reasonable expenses for a period of six months. Time is of the essence so, if you're in agreement, I've already taken the step of making preliminary arrangements." He handed her a data chip, "Here's your itinerary, reservations, plus a list of essential clothing and supplies. You leave in two days and will be the houseguest of Sarek s'kahri ansh'oine t'skon's family, an upcoming young diplomat in the Vulcan government."

Amanda still breathless and unbelieving nodded, "Sounds like fun."

Kulren frowned, "Let's get this straight, this is no pleasure trip, Amanda. Vulcans aren't known for their affability. Once you get there they may refuse to have anything to do with you."

"I won't let you down, Professor."

"Just give the sociologists something to chew over. That's all I ask."

It was later, as she walked back to her small apartment, that it occurred to her how incredibly lucky she was. The other research fellows, all men, would give their eyeteeth for such a chance.

And now, in as little as two days, she would have arrived in ShiKahr, her destination on Vulcan. She breathed the name exhilarated by the sound of it, rolling it on her tongue over and over like some enigmatic mantra: ShiKahr, ShiKahr, ShiKahr!

The captivating name conjured up visions of the unknown, the exotic, the mysterious. Her pulses raced with anticipation.

That same indescribable euphoria had buoyed her up through all the inoculations, health checks, and security procedures and even carried her over the sticky point when she had said her inevitable goodbyes to friends and family. The worst moment had come when she had taken leave of her father. Her mother, Sophia had died soon after Amanda's fourth birthday and since that time Charles Grayson had single-handedly, raised his only child. Amanda loved him fiercely, not only as a father but also as a friend. A committed outdoorsman, on their vacations, he had taken her camping, taught her to ride, to ski and to sail. He wished her well on hearing the news of her good fortune, raising only a single protest – that he could not accompany her!

"Just use your head and you can't fail to hack it," He hugged her tightly. "You know how much I'll miss you, six months is a long time to be apart, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime, the break you need to get some practical research under your belt. It's history in the making, as they say. Make the most of it, my darling."

Everyone on Sol III was anxious to see what the Vulcans were really like, divorced from the frustratingly emotionless exterior they presented continually to their Federation allies. Amanda, who had never forgotten that first chance meeting outside the Vulcan consulate, was not much different from hundreds of others who itched to see behind the enigmatic façade. So much about Vulcan and its inhabitants was still unknown. Despite various Institutional researches - customs, social mores, political convictions, religions, even the structure of family life – all remained off-limits due to T'Pau's insistence on isolation. To know that she would be one of the first to see the Vulcans as they really were, in their own home environment, stripped of that inscrutable Noh mask they wore when in the company of Humans was a terrible responsibility – and one she took extremely seriously.

The Federation of course, wanted to avoid any risk of offending their Vulcan associates. A lot was at stake. Professor Kulren had drummed into her that she was not to exceed protocol by even a fraction of a millimetre. Fiercely insular as they were, Amanda's Vulcan hosts would not tolerate any breach of etiquette on the part of a Human. The Cultural Institute had taken an enormous gamble by including her in the party.

Did her host really want her as a houseguest? Maybe there had not been a choice for him. She repeated his name, silently, in her mind - Sarek s'kahri ansh'oine t'skon and felt her pulses jump in response. An image came to her from that day so many years ago outside the Vulcan Consulate; the face of the Faerie Prince revealed abruptly to her sight as the playful wind swept back his hood…. Once again the air grew still, the noise of her surroundings receded and she had that rare presentiment of enchantment about to happen…

She stopped in mid-pace, Kulren forgotten and twirled on her heel. The breath caught in her throat as across the lounge a sudden flurry of departing passengers revealed a tall form dressed in dark robes. An air of calm tranquillity singled him out from the jostling multitude that surrounded him on all sides. It was her Vulcan, the one that had haunted her dreams, both awake and asleep, for the last eight years.

o0o


	3. Spell-bound

He seemed to have changed little, or at all, in the intervening years. The robes he wore could not hide his lean, loose-limbed grace, or disguise his apparent youth. Amanda guessed he was no more than thirty-something, though that judgement could not entirely be relied on when it came to the Vulcan species. Rumour had it that they aged differently from Humans. For all she knew he could be twice that, or more. Amanda shivered, abruptly off balance embarrassed by the frisson of excitement that quivered up her spine.

Still unable to tear her gaze away she continued to stare until finally, no doubt feeling her eyes upon him, he looked straight at her from across the room, one brow lifted in enquiry. At his enigmatic inspection, a tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed Amanda. Yet, his closed expression showed no sign of recognition.

He did not remember her. Mortified, she looked away, the quick upswell of disappointment almost physical. Yet, why on Earth would he recall a Human child he had seen only once and so long ago? Amanda laughed inwardly at her own ingénue. And when she dared to peek again, he had gone, swallowed up in the wave of passengers making for the exit. The next moment Professor Kulren appeared at her elbow as if conjured from a puff of smoke.

He apologised for being so late, and thrust a small package into her hands as he bustled her quickly over to the passenger exit, talking every step of the way.

"Language tapes," he advised, indicating the package. "You'll need to know at least a few phrases just for the sake of politeness. Fortunately, your grasp of Standard is excellent so there shouldn't be any major language difficulties. If we'd had more time to prepare you would've been more adequately grounded in the essentials. But there it is, beggars can't be choosers. When this chance offered itself, we naturally took it. You're a resourceful girl, Amanda. I know you won't let the Institute down." Kulren hurried on, stressing the need for a logical, cool-handed, unemotional approach when dealing with her Vulcan hosts.

"I'll do my best," Amanda murmured, just as the monotonous computer voice called her name over the loudspeaker system. "Now I really must go, Professor. Wish me luck-"

"There's no such term in Vulcan!" He flashed that rare smile again, "Don't forget I want a report as soon as you're settled."

"She laughed, breathless again, "It's a deal."

Together they stepped through the sliding doors while Kulren exhorted her with an assortment of clichéd good-wishes and admonitions. Amanda, aware of the other passengers already seated in the carrier waiting to depart, listened with only half an ear. She offered her hand in farewell but to her surprise, he drew her into his arms and hugged her to him. Amanda accepted the fatherly embrace and returned it warmly before finally pulling away.

The last to board she realised far too late that the only vacant seat faced that of Her Vulcan! For the second time that day, that dark, assessing gaze, reflective and sombre alighted fully upon her face.

Mesmerised, somehow Amanda mumbled an apology for keeping them all waiting and abruptly boneless, slid into the seat upholstery. With a curt nod of his head, and an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young Vulcan acknowledged her admission of guilt before returning to the padd he held. Hastily Amanda pulled an old, leather bound storybook from her overcoat pocket and buried her nose in the pages to hide the sudden rush of blood that stained her cheeks.

Darn it, that friendly hug she had shared with Professor Kulren had probably shocked the pants off him, an impression she probably had no hope of remedying on the short journey to Luna station. Then with an inward shrug, wondered why she even wanted to try. He is probably just the younger son of a younger son, with a fat contract for computer logic systems in his pocket, journeying home after expanding the family business on Earth, she scolded herself; not really the faerie prince of a twelve-year-old girl's imagination. But one quick glance at those ears, the slanted brows and wayward hair, and there was suddenly brilliance and shimmering colour and enchantment everywhere she looked…

They transferred to the shuttle that, due to her tardiness in boarding the carrier no doubt, left a few minutes later than scheduled. After a moments pause, the transport seemed to gather itself up before it surged forward and rushed into the gloomy December skies. The passenger terminal fell away and they roared through the atmosphere until the shuttle thrust an airtight nose into space. From somewhere upfront the same computer voice from the spaceport lobby softly intoned the history of Man and his voyage out into the wide reaches of the galaxy.

Amanda, finally engrossed in the novel, a parting gift from her father, only glanced up again as the first stage of her journey ended. Through the port beside her, she watched as the moon slowly but majestically floated into view. The orbiting space station basked in Luna's pale radiance. The docking arm snaked slowly out towards the shuttle and from outside came the sound of metal against metal, the slightest of thuds as it made contact. Cool air fanned Amanda's cheek as she gathered her possessions and rose to her feet. Shortly, she realised, as the air pressure equalised, such procedures would be outdated once the new matter transmitters – popularly named transporters – were on-line. Then shuttle and docking arm would be obsolete. For the moment, she tagged on the end of a line formed by her fellow passengers as the airlock door slowly opened and an official, wearing a Starfleet uniform, came to escort them onto the station.

Amanda's silent travelling companion, occupied in packing away the padd that had kept him busy since take off, was soon lost among the last minute confusion. Again, Amanda experienced a strange melancholy. Then she cheered up with the thought that the Fates had thrown them together twice now. Surely if it were meant to be, they would meet again. Through the tedious process of getting her travelling pass and Vulcan permit checked she put the charismatic Vulcan purposely from her mind. And once those formalities were done and she was free to glance about the crowded lounge, she belatedly recognised someone dressed in the classic dark green jumpsuit of a colleague from the Cultural Institute.

"Miss Grayson? Miss Amanda Carynese Grayson?"

She looked up into a pair of faintly amused brown eyes, set above a mouth that settled easily into a relaxed grin. The smile widened as she nodded and he thrust out a welcoming hand.

"That's a relief! The Institute didn't give me much of a description and I was expecting some scholarly old maid who'd need wet nursing all the way to the 40 Eridani system. I'm Mikhail Gorsky by the way, your escort, and principal xenobiologist of the team on Vulcan." He wrung her outstretched hand vigorously.

"Good to meet you, Mister Gorsky."

"Make it Mike," he insisted, "We Humans have to stick together, and Vulcan's a hell of a long way to go on last names."

Well built and tall, a stronger sun than Sol III could boast had bleached his shock of fair hair almost white. Around her father's age, that still did not restrain him from flirting – and his good-natured charm made it difficult to resent his easy familiarity.

"Okay, Mike it is," she agreed, matching his smile. "I'm Amanda."

Side by side, they headed toward the bar, a requisite for all Human space stations no matter where in the galaxy they were situated. Mike chose a table placed inches away from the floor to ceiling panoramic view outside. Besides the dim, artificial lighting within the room, the moon provided a startlingly lovely display.

"This is so beautiful." Amanda exclaimed

Shimmering light cascaded through the invisible force screens and illuminated Amanda's hair in a pale halo about her head.

"Beautiful," Mikhail agreed, though he was no longer looking at the view. He continued to study her as she faced him across the table. Amanda raised the tall glass she held in a wry salute.

"I saw that you'd made the acquaintance of our host. What do you think of the Vulcans now you've actually met one?"

"Our host?" Amanda regarded him blankly. "You mean he's here with you."

"No, he's here with you!" Mike laughed softly. "Obviously from your reaction, he stayed incognito – although how you could have missed the only Vulcan in that crowd of Humanity -!"

Amanda recalled her uncommunicative travelling companion with the darkly saturnine looks and the enigmatic stare. She gulped, " That - was - Sarek?"

"Indeed, that was!" The dry undertone of Mike's voice aroused Amanda's curiosity.

"You know him well?" She pried for information, her cheeks reddening at his sudden amused glance.

"As well as any Human can know a Vulcan, I suppose. Sarek is easier than most. At least he's tried to appreciate what we're all about."

"He doesn't hold us in very high regard from what I saw." Amanda remarked bluntly remembering her companion's silence and cool stare.

"The majority of Vulcans consider us a little like undisciplined children, I guess, emotional … barbaric even, without an ounce of logic to redeem us. Women on his home planet head councils, the extended family unit, most everything - which makes them very special characters. "

"Really?" Amanda said quietly, wondering what she had gotten into.

"They were already a great civilization when we were still swinging in the trees." Mike's grin widened. "Have I shot all your pretty dreams down in flames? Don't worry, you're not the first, and you'll probably not be the last to have romantic ideas where Vulcans are concerned. But now is the time to leave them behind. This trip isn't going to be any picnic."

"So, I'm beginning to realise." She murmured ruefully. "You sound like an expert."

"I am. That's no idle boast, either. My grandfather was part of the team that finally managed to get a permit to allow Humans down on Vulcan for the first time. In those days, of course, we weren't allowed even limited access to the cities. My father followed in the family footsteps, and I was eventually born there. Not that it gave me any special rights. I'm still only an emotional Earther to most of them."

"And Sarek?"

"He is quite attractive isn't he – in a brusque kind of way!" He grinned at her blush, but relented quickly from his teasing. "We want the same things - a better understanding on both sides of our separate species. Can you imagine what a fully combined Human/Vulcan association could accomplish?"

Amanda smiled, recognising fervour when she saw it. "I can see how we might benefit, certainly. But what do the Vulcans hope to gain?"

"Good question – and one we expect to be able to answer more fully once this mission is completed." He changed the subject to one that he seemed to find equally stimulating. "What about you, Amanda? Why did you apply for this particular job?"

"Oh, just my silly, romantic dreams about Vulcan, I suppose – which hit the dust just minutes ago, thanks to you." Her lips twitched at his expression. "I freely admit that's part of the reason I applied. We know so little that imagination has to fill in the gaps. This position was too good an opportunity to miss and how better to indulge my curiosity along with my wanderlust?"

"Aren't you a teacher?"

"In training. I'm hoping to observe some Vulcan schools in action. Their teaching methods must be something special -" Again, Mike's grin widened, "What? What have I said? They do have schools, I suppose."

"Uh-huh, but I shouldn't try implementing their methods when you get back home. It would probably start a riot of protesting parents."

"They can't be that bad."

"Oh, no? When did you last throw a seven year old out into the deep desert with the barest of survival equipment and tell him he had to stay out there for ten days, come what may?"

"They do that?"

"Indeed they do." His smile turned grim. "It's called kahs-wan, a survival test for all males who reach the age of seven. They believe in physical fitness on Vulcan."

"And initiative, I hope!"

"When it doesn't conflict with logic," White teeth flashed against his tanned skin once more and his eye crinkled at the corners, making him appear ten years younger. "Ready to throw in the towel, yet?"

She grinned back at him. "Not quite yet."

His laugh was warm, rich, and deep, "Good for you, Amanda. I think you might enjoy this trip after all. You've got pioneer blood by the sound of it."

"I'm glad you approve." She inclined her head, her own mouth quirked in a humorous smile.

"It's not my approval you need, unfortunately. Sarek can still veto your inclusion in the team even at this late stage. He's the Big Boss around here. When he says jump we jump - and some."

"I'll bear that in mind." Amanda murmured, blue eyes artless and unruffled.

Mike glanced at his chrono, "Due to go aboard in five minutes. Better get moving. Vulcans are fanatics for punctuality – and Sarek's no exception."

"Oh," Amanda's grin faded as she rose from her chair, remembering those hurried last minutes at the Spaceport terminal. "I wish I'd known that two hours ago."

OOO0OOO


	4. A Gentleman Unknown

When Amanda and Mike eventually boarded the U.S.S Insala, they learned that Sarek was already ensconced in his quarters. After making introductions to the Vulcan captain and his senior officers, Mike took her down in the turbo lift. As they stood outside Sarek's door, Amanda's heart hammered frantically, half in alarm, half in exhilaration at the thought of again meeting the enigmatic Vulcan who would be her host for the next six months. Standing there, she felt like the little girl she had once been, obsessed by a stranger from the stars. Amused, she stifled an abrupt giggle, but her hilarity swiftly died as a sonorous voice from within summoned them with a single, brusque, 'Sarlah.'

In bemused fascination, she followed Mike's lead and the next instant Sarek's cool, impersonal gaze swept over her as he rose from sitting seiza behind a low desk and came to greet them.

She experienced definite relief when his attention fixed on Mike who raised his hand in some kind of formal, spread-fingered salute. "Vulcan honours us with your presence. We come to serve."

Sarek inclined his head in princely acknowledgement. "My friend, Gorsky, your service honours us as always."

"Thank you, sir." Face carefully composed Mike bowed precisely. He indicated Amanda, "May I introduce Miss Amanda Grayson from the Federation Cultural Institute?"

A small, but unmistakeable pause followed, "Miss Grayson and I have already met."

Amanda's heart jolted. He had removed the outer robes that had given him such a commanding presence in the crowded terminal, but still the breadth of shoulder, the lithely muscled frame outlined beneath the simply tailored black tunic proved intimidating. His patrician features, the strong nose and broad cheekbones seemed carved from granite, imbued with a grandeur more suited to windswept desert plains than this sparsely furnished chamber aboard the Insala. Definitely not handsome in the accepted sense, his very austerity had a certain appeal.

Was he really just some minor civil servant in the Vulcan Government? Certainly, there were no aides to wait on him; he wore no visible badge to proclaim rank or station - not the Vulcan Way apparently - and yet if bearing had anything to do with it, he was undoubtedly some undercover lordling on a reconnaissance of his own.

What she really needed to do was retrieve her position with him by saying something really logical and intelligent but, maddeningly, nothing but banal generalities came to mind. Darn! What made the situation infinitely worse was the sudden realization that somehow he knew of her silly dilemma.

His compelling eyes riveted her to the spot, held her there like a butterfly on a pin. "I am pleased to see that your time-keeping has improved."

A rush of pink stained Amanda's cheeks. She bit her lip, afraid that she had already antagonised Sarek who had the power to proclaim her unsuitable and order her return to Earth. She refrained from looking at Mike as she struggled for an even, conciliatory tone, "I apologise, sir. The delay at the terminal was unavoid…"

He held up a peremptory hand, "Your excuses are of no interest to me, Miss Grayson. I trust it will not happen in the future."

Immediately he returned his attention to Mike and said something rapidly in Vulcan that she found impossible to follow. Together, Sarek and Mike conversed in the formidably complex language, which so effectively excluded her from the conversation. Standing at Mike's elbow, overawed and confused, the talk flowed over her. However, when Sarek's cool glance flicked in her direction more than once, Amanda had the distinct impression that she was the topic under discussion.

Irked by his aloof hauteur, she still found it impossible to take her eyes off him. Amanda concealed a self-derisive smile, aware she was acting like the girl in the antique 20th century novel her father had given her, when faced by the imposing main character. His description from the book, read more than once, seemed imprinted on her memory.

-He belonged to a walled city of the fifteenth century, a city of narrow, cobbled streets, and thin spires, where the inhabitants wore pointed shoes and worsted hose. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval in some strange inexplicable way, and (I was) reminded of a portrait seen in a gallery (I had) forgotten where, of a certain Gentleman Unknown. Put him in black, with lace at his throat and wrists, he would stare down at us in our new world from a long distant past – a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways. A past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of silent, exquisite courtesy -

At last, with an inclination of the head, Sarek indicated the meeting was at an end. Mike performed a strictly formal bow of his own and escorted her from the room. As the door swept back and Amanda stepped through it, she could sense those penetrating dark eyes fixed on her back. In what category, she wondered briefly had that logical mind placed her now. It could only be third rate judging from his frigid reception. For an instant, she experienced a spurt of annoyance but almost as quickly reined it in. Such emotion was now a luxury she could no longer afford. Mike must have known her state of mind for when the door slid shut, he grinned at her, his eyes twinkling.

"How do your romantic dreams of Vulcans rate now?"

Amanda managed a shaky grin in return, "Dispelled forever. Are they all like that or is Sarek an exception to the rule?"

Mike, with a hand under her elbow, drew her away from the door before murmuring, "Oh, you've seen nothing yet. But take my advice, and don't judge him from your experience so far. There's far more to Sarek than he lets show."

"Like an iceberg, you mean?" Merriment lit up her eyes, "Ten per cent ice above the water and ninety percent beneath it. What were you talking about? Not me, by any chance?"

"Weren't you following the conversation? Oh, good Lord, I forgot you haven't had time to learn Vulcan yet."

"Nope." She held up the tapes, "But I've got these, and the two days it takes to reach our destination."

"Ah, that makes things just a tad awkward." Obviously embarrassed, he ran a hand through his corn-coloured hair.

"Oh, why?"

Mike shrugged, "Sarek wants to give you a few lessons in polite behaviour before you meet his family."

"Lessons in what?"

"Vulcan propriety. It's something of an obstacle to all of us. Sarek won't have meant anything personal by his suggestion. He's acting out of logic, nothing more."

"That's good of him. May I ask what Vulcan propriety makes of Humans generally, if not me, specifically?"

"I guess it's easily offended," his mouth twitched with amusement, "– or, at least, T'Pau's particular brand of it is."

Wide-eyed Amanda gazed at him, hardly able to believe what she had just heard. She was to meet the Vulcan head of state. "Sarek belongs to T'Pau's family?"

"She's his grandmother by all accounts, though with their strict privacy codes we're not too sure even of that. In due course T'Pau personally assesses all outworlder's. I don't want to scare you unnecessarily, but she's a tough old girl and the expedition relies on her good opinion. Sarek's stake in the mission is equal or even higher than that of the Federation. It was his idea in the first place. He sold it to T'Pau and he stands to lose a lot of professional prestige if she doesn't approve of how we act."

"Yes, I can imagine." Amanda sighed softly; aware she had little choice in the matter. "Okay, when are these 'lessons' scheduled to begin?"

"Five minutes ago." Mike shrugged at her abrupt pout and grinned, "Just joking. On reflection, I think it was better that you didn't understand what was said in there. Sarek doesn't pull many punches."

She sighed again, "So what did he say?"

"You won't like it." He took her arm and led her further down the corridor.

"Maybe not, but I'd still like to know."

"His exact words were, 'If she is going to fill in some of the lamentable gaps in her knowledge, she cannot start too soon…' you have time to change into something more 'appropriate' before returning."

"His words again?"

"'Fraid so."

She shook her head. At least her lack of understanding had prevented her from making an emotional retort that would certainly have damned her in Sarek's eyes. That was something to be grateful for, she supposed. In spite of herself, Amanda chuckled, azure eyes brilliant. "Where do I change?"

"Your quarters are here." He stopped before an anonymous door. "I'm two doors down on the other side. When you're ready, just go along to Sarek's cabin. He'll be expecting you."

Amanda heaved a mock sigh. "Thanks."

"Scared? Don't be - Sarek's vegetarian. He won't eat you." After an infinitesimal hesitation, he bent and brushed her cheek with his lips. "I'll see you later, okay? For dinner."

"That's a date, Mr Gorsky."

o0o


	5. Feeling Pretty

Mike waved at her briefly before disappearing into his own quarters.

Amanda keyed in the security code he had given her and the door whooshed silently open. The room appeared pleasant enough. Though small, the decor reminded her more than a little of the Japanese ryokan she had stayed at with her father one summer vacation. It had that vaguely oriental flavour, with the platform bed along one wall, raised a few inches from the floor and enclosed by long burgundy drapes. Devoid of bedding now, and the drapes drawn back, the dais showed off some oddly twisted white branches artfully arranged in a tall black vase. A collection of night quilts and other bedding resided in a red lacquered, two-drawer chest that also doubled as a low nightstand. A matching table supported a streamlined computer monitor with a legless chair tucked efficiently beneath similar to the one in Sarek's quarters.

Further investigations thankfully revealed a walk in closet where all her clothing had been neatly arranged, sorted not only into the various categories of blouses, skirts, slacks and underwear but also by colour, dark to light, and patterns, florals, stripes, checks. Even her toiletries, cosmetics, and jewellery were efficiently placed in the same neat way. Surely, that was taking order just a little too far. Amanda shook her head in amazed disbelief. How did Vulcans ever find the time to do anything else, she wondered, as she continued to hunt for another concealed entrance. With gratified approval, she eventually found the hidden panel that slid back to reveal the washing facilities she had so diligently sought.

With some speed, she kicked off the high-heeled strap sandals and stripped free of the wrinkled cream travelling suit that Sarek had found so objectionable. Had the shortness of the skirt offended him, or maybe the colour? Could cream be significant, like funereal black was in her own culture? Maybe or maybe not. She had no way of knowing for sure. And what should she choose from her limited wardrobe that he would find suitable? She stepped into the shower; turned the sonics up high and let the frequencies blast the grime from her pores. Who would have thought that such small details would prove a minefield?

Yet, the uncertainties, although increasing her nervous tension also intensified her exhilaration. She had never felt so alive.

She was blithely singing an old song that had gained in popularity in recent months when the door chime sounded, 'I feel pretty, oh so pretty, …'

Still singing, she grabbed up her cotton robe and pulled it quickly over her scanty bra and pants before releasing the door catch. Remembering the word Sarek had used she called out "Sarlah."

A woman entered, a stately Vulcan woman of some beauty and indeterminate age, dressed in a Federation uniform, who studiously refrained from looking Amanda straight in the eye – or anywhere else for that matter. Stifling her amusement, Amanda bowed as she had seen Mike do and uttered another of the half dozen Vulcan words she had managed to learn, "T'sai?"

"My name is T'Shenra." The woman inclined her head, so much more poised than Amanda could ever hope to accomplish, and in perfect Standard continued in a soft, cultured voice, "Kula' at Sarek has bidden that this apparel be brought for your use, Miss Grayson. He has asked that you wear it when you attend him. I am at your disposal if you should require assistance."

The woman handed over a stack of precisely folded garments with a pair of low-heeled satin slippers balanced on top.

Amanda's lips parted in surprise as she took the clothing. "That is … most kind. Please, thank him for me. I … don't think I'll need your assistance, however.

Another stately inclination of the head, "Kula' at Sarek has also directed that I wait and escort you to his cabin. He is - eager - to begin your instruction."

Engaged in unfolding the various garments, Amanda cleared her throat to disguise her startled inhalation. She privately wondered what kind of instruction Sarek had in mind that required her to dress to his specific taste. Or was this a further arcane Vulcan custom she had yet to learn about? Aloud, she said, "Indeed, as I am impatient to learn."

Her attention shifted to the clothes. Yet again, made from soft, silken fabrics, the ensemble had an oriental quality, along the lines of a Chinese cheongsam or Vietnamese ao dai, elegant and yet demure.

"But these are beautiful," she murmured, sparing a glance at T'Shenra. "Surely there must be some mistake. I can't accept these. They look hand made."

Apart from the delicate full-length under-drawers and brief chemise in pale blue transparent linen, there was a pair of long, azure-coloured, wide-legged trousers, with a drawstring at the waist. A floor length, long-sleeved sheathed gown, split up the sides past the waist, accompanied the pants. The fitted bodice was tailored with diagonal openings that ran from the high-necked collar to the underarms. Both sleeves and bodice were fastened along the seams with a row of twenty or so tiny, knotted buttons, each one exquisitely made out of folded ribbon. To complete the outfit there was a wide, three quarter-sleeved over tunic of midnight blue. Pleated at the back, it reached to mid-thigh, and was kept closed by a wide fringed sash, again in pale blue.

"There is no mistake, Miss Grayson. Kula' at Sarek's instructions were quite explicit. The garments are for your use. If you will dress now, it is impolite to keep him waiting."

Apparently, there was nothing more to be said. When in Rome, after all … A little self-conscious but bowing before the inevitable, Amanda slipped off the bathrobe, removed her own flimsy underwear, and began to dress in Sarek's finery.

Ready at last, she twirled before a full-length mirror that T'Shenra revealed behind the red drapes. The clothing fit almost as if the ensemble had been made especially for her. While the body-hugging top accentuated her breasts and slim waist to advantage, the side openings in the long gown and tunic made them both comfortable and easy to move in. Swathed in soft, flowing fabric, the splits also gave the odd, sensual glimpse of her bare midriff. To complete the look, T'Shenra swept up Amanda's hair entwining her short curls with a delicate braid of blue ribbon. With the addition of a ch'ipau, an ornamental hairpin with dangling, fringed tassels, the transformation was complete. The change astounded Amanda. The ingenuous young Human girl of only hours before had disappeared. In her place, now emerged the mysterious alluring creature she observed in the mirrored glass. Elation, a silken cocoon of delight, buoyed her up all the way to Sarek's door.

Once again, his imperious voice bid them enter but this time he was not inclined to notice them directly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor stool behind his low desk, intent on the screen of his console, he did not even look up as they approached.

T'Shenra bent her head and shoulders in that strange, fluid way that appeared completely natural. She murmured in her quiet manner, low but quite distinct. "Here is Miss Grayson, Kula' at."

Sarek, still without looking at them, indicated a legless chair on the other side of the desk, "Let Miss Grayson be seated."

With as much poise as she could muster, Amanda sank down into the cushioned seat, infinitely grateful for the wide-legged pants and graceful flow of the sheath she now wore instead of her tight little mini skirt. She started to cross her legs in imitation of Sarek but T'Shenra's abrupt glance made her pause. Instead, she turned her knees to one side as she had seen the geisha do on that long ago holiday in Japan, her clasped fingers resting serenely in her lap. The action brought forth a slight nod from T'Shenra who then turned to stone as the Vulcan woman awaited further orders from her superior.

o0o


	6. Silence Is Golden

A minute passed, then a second, which dawdled painfully to a third. The low chair, that had started out quite comfortable, became decidedly less so as Amanda waited silently for Sarek to notice her. Her right knee, wrenched a month before in a 'friendly' inter-departmental game of Velocity, bent into such an unfamiliar position, started to ache ferociously. As she continued to sit there, the heat of the room impinged on her consciousness. Beads of perspiration gathered at her hairline, along her upper lip and between her breasts. Sarek, or perhaps T'Shenra, or even the both of them, seemed to have on some tantalising, unusual aftershave or perfume – or maybe it was the air-conditioning system. Wherever it came from, a heady scent of cinnamon saturated the stifling air.

The ongoing silence overawed her. All Amanda could hear was her own breathing and the drub, drub, drub of blood through her temples. To her ears, the sound appeared unnaturally loud. Could they hear it, she wondered. She sneaked a look at T'Shenra. With hands held behind her back, the Vulcan woman gazed straight before her, cool, calm, and collected, prepared it seemed to remain in that position until Sarek condescended to recognise her once again. Amanda marvelled at the woman's stillness, an object lesson in tranquil poise. Then a thought suggested itself: was T'Shenra there as an example? Surely, Sarek was above such games. Or perhaps he did not mean it as a game but a practical illustration. Was he pointing out that he expected such behaviour from her? Did his inattention test her fortitude and serenity? Or did he hope to goad her into losing her temper so that she would commit some blatant act of emotionalism, proof positive that she was unsuitable for the mission. If that were indeed the case, she vowed not to give him that satisfaction even if she had to sit in that self same position for the next two days.

Her left foot had gone to sleep. Surreptitiously, she wiggled her toes within the enclosing satin slipper but the sensation of deadened flesh did not ease. The end of her nose itched. Amanda struggled not to move a single muscle. A drop of perspiration strayed from her hairline and trickled irritatingly down the side of her nose to the corner of her mouth. If she licked the salty droplet away with the tip of her tongue, would he notice? Currently he seemed engrossed in whatever was upon his comscreen, an impression that could be quite false, the performance fostered purely for her benefit. Most definitely, he would notice, she decided and let the droplet remain.

To take her mind off her increasing discomfort, Amanda allowed her mind to wander. Sarek's hands drew her attention as he keyed something into the database, beautiful, long-fingered, and strong. From there, her gaze drifted to the muscles that rippled beneath the black jacket he wore. Not his colour, she reflected. It was too sombre to do him any favours. He should wear some shade of plum, the traditional colour of royalty on Earth. He was certainly aristocratic enough to carry off such a hue. Or perhaps brown might suit him better, a shade that would accentuate the hazel of his eyes. Now that she had the liberty to study him fully she realised how striking his features really were. He had a strong profile, an aquiline nose and generous mouth, with firm, positively sensual lips. His hair had a wayward curl and if he brushed it back some, and tried out a smile, he might even turn out reasonably handsome she concluded suppressing inward laughter.

Another minute passed. The heat turned oppressive. That and the scent of cinnamon were making her light-headed. Her eyelids wanted badly to close. She blinked and blinked again. If Sarek delayed any longer, she would fall asleep. She would also miss her dinner date with Mike. Thoughts of dinner reminded her how hungry she was and as if on cue, her stomach growled plaintively. She flicked an apprehensive glance from Sarek up at T'Shenra but neither of them acknowledged the telltale sound. Maybe Vulcan hearing, despite the size of their ears, had limitations after all. Her bladder was also making itself felt – with increasing persistence - as the minutes continued to slip away. Dare she impose into that awful quiet and ask if she could be excused for a moment? Would he understand her need or ask her for an explanation? The very thought made her go hot with embarrassment.

o0o


	7. Tea and Cakes

"I thank you for your patience, Ot-lan T'Shenra. If I may trouble you a little further, I believe Miss Grayson might appreciate some krayla and tsa'e before I begin her instruction." Sarek's resonant voice broke the silence.

Although he addressed T'Shenra, he used Federation Standard. He also looked directly at Amanda. Hands steepled before him on the desk, his right brow lifted significantly. Was it a question? And what was kuraylaa and tusaye? Taken aback Amanda rested her puzzled gaze on his questioning eyes.

She took a guess, "That - would be pleasant. Thank you, sir."

T'Shenra came to life in an instant. She bowed her head gracefully in acknowledgement, and turned toward the door. Sarek continued to hold Amanda's cautious gaze until the woman had gone.

Then he rose sinuously to his feet, stalked with a panther's grace across the chamber where another door whooshed open at his command. "If your bladder needs emptying it may have been more appropriate if you had taken the time to do so in your own quarters. However, I need you fully focused for the next hour, Miss Grayson. Are you familiar with the apparatus or should I explain its use?"

Amanda's jaw dropped. She stared at Sarek in disconcerted affront, discomfort forgotten as the implications of what he said became clear. Blood rushed to her cheeks in a crimson tide of mortification.

"So, it's true what they say," She sublimated the sudden rush of anger, the emotion diverted into safer channels, fingers clenched with the effort. "Vulcans can read minds."

His face remained enigmatic. "You are mistaken. I assure you I have not trespassed on your privacy."

"How else could you know - what you know - without reading my thoughts?"

His dark eyes were lethally calm as he answered, his tone mellifluous and unmoved. "Vulcans have many skills, Miss Grayson. Reading Human body language has never been particularly demanding to us. However, in this instance I am not using any dexterity in Vhosh'anta."

"Then how-?"

"Your mind is surprisingly - vibrant. Even with my mental shields in place, it is proving somewhat difficult to disregard the emotional overspill you project."

Amanda covered her face with both hands and peeped through her fingers at him. "Oh, no! But - I'm not a telepath."

Her eyes widened in frightened wonder, "Am I?"

"Possibly a latent ability. Many Humans have the aptitude though they seem unaware of their potential."

There was no reason for him to lie. "I didn't realise. Please … accept my apology."

"There was no reason for you to know." He conceded. "It is a small matter, and one that may possibly be remedied without too much disturbance."

A brief smile lifted the corners of his arrogant mouth and softened it slightly, but whether it was genuine or a learned response, Amanda could not be sure. Certainly, his unexpected good humour did not reach his penetrating eyes. "Now, if I may acquaint you with the amenities. When you return, we will begin."

At last, having imparted his unremitting instructions he left her alone once more. She needed time to recover her previous aplomb but knew she could not afford to dally there long. Although she would have loved to investigate the assorted toiletry articles, lidded pots and tubes that resided on the shelf below the ample mirror, she resisted the temptation. Instead, she pushed the button that made the retracted oval lavatory pan push out from the wall. Sarek had demonstrated the mechanism for her. The pan, placed low to the floor, was designed for straddling rather than sitting upon. Of course, it had no grab rails or handles. Really quite ingenious, the apparatus pulled back in, the contents neatly incinerated with just one phaser flash.

Good thing I have a sense of balance, she reflected with wry amusement, as she loosened the drawstring on her pants and pushed them down around her knees.

It was only when she was hunkered down, a foot either side of the bowl, knees spread and her hands full of cloth to keep it out of the way, that an astonishing notion suddenly occurred to her. Vulcans were such superior creatures. If there was any other method available surely they would not deign to squat in such an ungainly manner - which made her suspect they must be built differently in that department. Amanda stifled an intrigued giggle. Oh, my, what an idea!

Pushing the notion aside until she had more time to consider it fully, she passed her hands through a shimmering sterilizer field, tidied her hair, and within a few minutes returned to the main room. Sarek had drawn her chair up beside the desk near to his own. He bade her sit and indicated what looked like thin, dry discs of toasted bread arranged on a delicate blue crystal dish. What looked like a teapot and two small bowls, made of the same crystal-ware, were placed next to the food.

"Please eat, Miss Grayson. " Sarek commanded as he proceeded to fill the two bowls with some of the contents from the pot. "The sharing of food and drink is an important ritual on Vulcan. Krayla and tsa'e are staples of nearly every household. I believe you have a similar ritual 'coffee and cake', is that not so?"

"We do, yes," She bit into the offered krayla. Firm and crisp, it was more like an unsweetened biscuit than the cake she ate at home. Amanda crunched on it hungrily, enjoying the unusual taste and texture on her tongue. However, when she took a quick gulp of the tsa'e, she gasped in surprise. As soon as the tart, almond-tasting liquid hit her stomach, a wave of heat surged through her blood. She choked, blinked away tears, as fresh perspiration again popped out all over her body.

Sarek reacted immediately to her loss of composure, "Computer, regulate cabin temperature to 76.4 degrees Fahrenheit."

His incisive gaze regarded her solemnly, "I should have warned you, no doubt. Tsa'e is an acquired taste. Perhaps you would be more comfortable removing your jacket until you have cooled down."

Once settled again, the jacket placed neatly over the seat back, Sarek continued, "My homeworld is a hard and inhospitable place to those who are unaccustomed to it, Miss Grayson. Unlike your green and pleasant land, if one disregards the rules there, even for a moment, it can mean ones death. You have a great deal to learn, and I suggest you pay strict attention to all that I tell you."

Again, his mouth curved upward in that peculiar almost-but-not-quite smile before he switched abruptly from Federation Standard into his own Vulcan language.

The words, strange and incomprehensible swirled around her like water about a rock. She took a further cautious swallow of the tsa'e, rolled it on her tongue, and let it slip slowly down her throat. It burned a fiery trail all the way down her oesophagus. Not only that, the 'tea' seemed to have affected her senses in a very strange way. Instead of trying to interpret the language, she found herself considering Sarek's features again, how mesmerizing his eyes were, how enticing his mouth, with the bottom lip full, and soft and round, a contrast to the taut upper-

"Well, Miss Grayson? Are you able to answer or have you been struck dumb?"

Jerked out of her reverie, it took a moment or two for her to focus. "I'm - sorry, sir. You were saying?"

He held up the teapot, "Are you not acquainted with my language? I asked if you would like more tsa'e."

Oddly disorientated, she wanted to decline the offer but could not be certain he would also take her refusal as a rejection of his hospitality. She swiftly downed what was left in her bowl and with the delicate crystal held between the fingers of both hands accepted a refill.

Another sip of the potent brew bestowed a measure of Dutch courage and she heard her own voice declare abruptly, "As it happens, Mr. Sarek, at the moment I don't speak Vulcan although I am proficient in Federation Standard-"

She watched his eyebrow ascend upward, face otherwise immobile and hurried on; "There was so little time, you see. But Professor Kulren has supplied me with language tapes and I -"

He held out an imperious hand, "You have them in your possession?"

"Of course." A little giddy, all thumbs, she searched hastily through her clothing then remembered she had stashed the recording in the only garment that had a pocket – the jacket she had taken off. Clumsily, her knee protesting, she turned in the seat, located the cassette, and passed it to him.

Without comment, he slipped the recording into the receiver on his comset, watched the introduction for a moment, and then ejected the cassette once more, his face expressionless. "As I thought; this is merely a reproduction of what we term pra'la nuhk'es, the courtesy tongue, spoken for the most part by pre-pubescent children. It will not do at all, Miss Grayson."

"I - don't understand. This is the language given to us when first contacted by your people, sir. We don't have any other. "

"I am quite aware of that."

Amanda frowned, her fuddled brain working through all the nuances. Mike had told her that the Vulcans regarded their Human partners as disruptive and wilful, mere squabbling children. Had the authorities been passed the appropriate lingua franca, a dialect used by children to their elders to underline that assertion? It had to be a joke, a huge, logical, Vulcan joke! She blinked at him, not quite certain she actually saw the faint gleam of humour in his eyes.

"That doesn't seem - too - polite, Mr Sarek." She murmured, keeping her own feelings of mingled delight and annoyance in careful check.

"Does that not depend on ones viewpoint?" Again, his eyes impaled her, and if amusement had been there a moment before it was now gone. "It may not be generally known but there are those among my people who believe that Terrans cannot behave in a civilized manner, Miss Grayson."

"And are you of that opinion, sir?"

o0o


	8. Language Lesson

A deathly hush ensued during which Amanda held her breath, wondering if influenced by the tsa'e she had gone too far. But he only said in a tone that would tolerate no argument, "My opinion is irrelevant."

His eyes hooded for an instant before his gaze returned to her face, brooding and incalculable. "Before we reach Vulcan, you must be proficient in many things, our language among them."

"But we only have two days. How can I…"

"There is a technique known on my world. It is called a mind-touch. My knowledge of Vulcan culture and language will be transferred directly from my brain to yours. If you agree, I will also establish a mental screen to prevent your thoughts from leaking as they have been doing." He sat back in his chair and regarded her, waiting for her decision.

"And - there is no other way?"

"Of course there are other methods but none as rapid or thorough."

"You've done this before, I take it?"

"It is a respected teaching process."

"Among Vulcans." She commented sagely, brow furrowed in consideration. "What about Humans, Mr Sarek. Have you - mind-touched a Terran before?"

"No, Miss Grayson, I have never linked my mind with a Human before," He murmured dryly. "But do they not say on your Earth 'there is a first time for everything'?"

It was another test, she decided. If she said 'no' to the proposal, would he send her packing? Without doubt, his opinion of her, whatever it was already, would most definitely decrease. She swallowed the last of the tsa'e in her bowl and placed it carefully down on the desk; aware she could jump only one way. A tremor of fear and excitement shivered through. Quietly, she agreed, "All right."

"If you wish I will recall, Ot-lan T'Shenra to act as chaperone."

"That won't be necessary. I trust you know what you're doing," she murmured, her grin nervous. "What do I have to do? Must I prepare in some way, shut my eyes, breathe deeply…. meditate? "

That peculiar smile tipped the corners of his mouth as he leaned toward her. Again, she smelled the rich fragrance of cinnamon. After-shave, she wondered, or hair gel. Did Vulcans go in for such fripperies?

"Tsa'e is a medicinal herb. Drinking it was the only preparation you needed. Just sit quietly, Miss Grayson, I will do all that is required. You may shut your eyes, or breathe deeply, whatever helps you relax."

She did shut her eyes, though she continued to peek through her lashes. He lifted those beautiful hands, fingers spread. Hot breath fanned her cheek. Skin touched skin. Amanda shivered at the contact. Her mind blurred. Then she was gazing at the darkness behind her eyelids.

His voice held her spellbound, the words only half understood as he intoned softly, "Listen only to me, Amanda. Hear only my voice. My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts -"

In her college days, Amanda had taken a couple of RNA messenger courses to boost her core knowledge of several languages, including Standard. The chemical induction had taken six weeks to complete but left her with a fluency that would otherwise have taken years to achieve. It had also made her wretchedly ill for days after each treatment. By the time the RNA had worn off, she had augmented the chemical information with a genuine awareness of each native tongue.

Along with most other Terrans, Amanda had gleaned her experience of Vulcans from the numerous holo shows that had increased in popularity ever since 2063, the date when the original Vulcan envoy had landed in Montana. Attracted initially by the warp signature of the Phoenix - Zephram Cochrane's ship - the meeting between Cochrane of Earth and Solkar of Vulcan sparked a remarkable turning point in the difficult recovery from Sol III's terrible nuclear war, and signalled the beginning of Humanities interstellar age. Since that time, Vulcans had always been the good guys, the ones in the white Stetsons. Together with the rest of the population, Amanda had enthusiastically gulped down both fact and fiction about the Saviours of Mankind. Despite her fascination, however, she had never come across any references to Sarek's mind-touch.

In the moments after she shut her eyes, she was acutely aware of the feverish heat that spread across her face from Sarek's fingertips. His distinctive scent, the incongruous smell of cinnamon toast, enveloped her like some delicious confection.

All she heard was the rich certainty of his voice intoning the strange mantra that echoed through her psyche. Hear only me. Listen only to me. My mind to your mind my thoughts to your thoughts-

As her breathing slowed along with her heartbeat, she sank down into a gentle state where thoughts did not trouble her at all. Yet, at the same time, there lingered a feeling of expectation, a sweet yearning for deeper contact. Linked by the continuous thread of the mantra, seduced by the perceptive caress of his mind-touch, she opened to him. Unresisting, she surrendered, unusually passive and compliant; entranced by the hypnotic siren's song he created. She welcomed him in, her natural defences crumbling before his tender, dexterous advance, her thoughts thrumming with pleasurable sensation as he primed her to receive the nucleic acid stream that regulated the transfer of information from his brain to hers.

-

She floated in the darkness behind her closed eyelids luxuriating in the mental embrace so much gentler than his physical persona. The pulsations of his mind resonated through her, then repeated, and reverberated back and forth until the two of them were in exquisite rapport, a total harmony…

It seemed only moments later when Sarek's deep, expressive, baritone woke her from the wondrous dream. "Miss Grayson, can you hear me?"

She sighed, a long soft exhalation, and languorously opened her eyes. Her whole body tingled from the kiss of his fingertips still pressed lightly along her brow and jaw. The hands of apparently someone who did not always sit behind a desk, the skin felt slightly callused against her face.

Sarek's hooded eyes beheld her own, serene but watchful, a stranger who had entered her mind, a stranger who had left his imprint on her thoughts. At the idea, Amanda's heart tripped against her ribs and - as if in startled response to her leaping pulse - his hands immediately dropped away.

Fingers clasped together in his lap he sat back in his chair and regarded her with guarded interest. "Are thee well, Miss Grayson. Can thee understand me now?"

She blinked. The words were not English, nor Federation Standard, or any language she had learned previously. It was Vulcan and she understood him.

"Yes, I understand. Thank you, I … am well." It was not exactly the whole truth. Her mind still reeled from the extraordinary contact. She felt light-headed, almost drunkenly giddy. Hungry before, her body now craved food - and she had an incredible thirst.

"Please, speak Ti-Valka'ain." He handed her a bowl that thankfully contained only water and not another measure of tsa'e.

Sarek's mind-touch had conveyed the context behind the word he used as well as the meaning and usage. Its inhabitants called the world recognized as Vulcan by the Federation, Ti-Valka'ain, named after the Old God of Fire, Ayen-Valkathi. It was also the term used for the language and the Vulcan people.

Amanda inclined her head, swallowed a sip of water to wet her scratchy throat, and repeated, "Tsa'mah nash-veh, fi'ahkr'hem oish-veh Kula'at Sarek."

Although not the courtesy tongue of child to adult, she used the strictly formal structural configuration that indicated his much higher social status, careful to include the obligatory honorific. Like all the other languages she had learned, Ti-Valka'ain contained its own peculiarities. German was throaty, Gaelic had glottal stops, and Vulcan was heavy on fricatives.

His nod was terse, "Thy pronunciation still needs refining, but I believe that will come with practice."

"Then … thee will take me? I am suitable for the mission?"

"Of course." His eyebrow flicked upwards as if in surprise. "I would not have selected thee otherwise, Miss Grayson."

"I … do not understand, Kula'at. Thee selected me?"

"Certainly." He replied, his tone coolly polite. "Professor Kulren put forward thy name initially, of course, but the final choice of candidate was mine. Thee were the most logical applicant and as such, I have had thee under observation for some weeks. Now, if thee will repeat after me a stanza of T'lala's Way."

And for such shattering news, that was all the explanation she received. The lesson continued, and by some miracle, she managed to do exactly what he required. It brought her no praise, however. After a further half an hour, he arranged another lesson for early the next day and then almost casually dismissed her.

With a sigh of tired relief, more bemused than ever, Amanda left him. On shaking legs, bones rubbery, she returned to the quiet safety of her own quarters.

o0o


	9. Signs and Portents

Mike met her outside her cabin door, a smile of unmistakeable pleasure and welcome brightening his face.

"So, he didn't eat you, after all!" He held out his hands, so that it seemed perfectly natural to clasp both of them and smile back up at him.

"Worse." She declared, her knees still knocking from the experience. "He offered me krayla and tsa'e – which, though Sarek compared the two, is nothing like cake and coffee!"

"No, they're not." Mike laughed softly, "Then again, tsa'e does grow on you - after a while."

"Maybe, I'll have to take your word for it." She shook her head and made a wry face at him. "I only had two tiny bowls of the stuff but I think I'm going to have the hangover of all hangovers tomorrow."

"Uh-huh. That's for sure."

"Sarek's scheduled another lesson, but at least he confirmed my inclusion to the team." She stopped to take a breath and found she was still holding both of Mike's hands. "Now, I don't know whether to be relieved or terrified."

"If we're still talking about Sarek, maybe a little of both." His eyes twinkled. "He's a Vulcan after all. But he's on our side, which is a big plus for me. How about you?"

"I'm not sure." She wrinkled her nose. "But however we regard him, I doubt Kula'at Sarek cares either way."

His eyes widened in appreciation at her use of Vulcan, "Hey, not only do you look the part, but you parley the language too – and with an accent, no less. Those tapes the prof. gave you must be something special. But your hard work deserves a reward. Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous." She confirmed with unreserved enthusiasm, her stomach rumbling once more.

"Glad to hear it because there is a sumptuous repast in my cabin just waiting to be consumed by two hungry Humans." He inclined his head in an almost perfect imitation of their Vulcan hosts, and then grinned with ironic good humour. "Come on, T'sai Grayson. We have to fatten you up so that Sarek has something to bite into when he sees you again."

Mike proved an affable and amusing companion. They swapped stories of their childhoods, people they had known, places they had been. He regaled her with tales of his boyhood spent in the Terran enclave on Vulcan, she of her schooldays in New York and her years at Barnard College.

They marvelled at each other's taste in food, music, and books, how both of them preferred the real, live paper variety instead of the electronic kind. And, of course, they talked about their mission, journeys end, and what it would mean to stay with a Vulcan family.

They also talked about Sarek! Mike questioned her more closely about the Vulcan diplomat's gift of clothing and sympathised over the way he had kept her waiting. He complimented the approach she had used and agreed that Sarek's behaviour had probably been a test. Of course, she told him about the revelation in respect of the Vulcan courtesy tongue, though for some reason she could not explain even to herself, she kept the fact of the mind-touch private. To her surprise, instead of the anger she might have expected at the disclosure, he laughed uproariously.

"We suspected something of the sort," he explained. "Of course, it's only since Sarek became the cultural attaché that we've been allowed access to Vulcan society at all, though it's interesting that he came clean about the language to you."

"Why would he do that?" She asked, "Why tell me and not you?"

He shrugged, "You'll be living with his family. Maybe that has something to do with it."

"You mean the lessons are a kind of insurance policy so that I won't embarrass him in front of his mother," she murmured dryly.

"It's a possibility. Rumour has it that T'Phra is T'Pau's daughter, and a chip off the old block." Mike's eyes gleamed. "Whatever the reason, I suppose we should be grateful. At least we now know there's a difference."

They continued to sit over the remains of the meal Mike had prepared far into the evening until with great reluctance he took her back to her own cabin. Again, he gently kissed her flushed cheek. With a contented smile, she left him, the faint citrus smell of his aftershave a reminder as she finally undressed, rolled out the bedding that was indeed hidden away in the lacquered chest, and completely exhausted, crawled beneath the covers.

Despite her fatigue, Amanda slept poorly. She tossed and turned on the unfamiliar dais while her mind grappled with the events of the day. When she finally managed to drop off into slumber, her dreams fell into the same restless pattern, seemingly full of strange portents and subconscious anxieties.

The Ti-Valka'ain language surged through her mind with its complexities of expression and structure. The sound of it resonated in her throat and rolled sonorously on her tongue, it droned in her ears, a swarm of humming bees. Bizarre fragments of previously unknown information, the strains of outlandish music, alien scenes of black mountains and red sands came and went, jostling for position. Sarek haunted her thoughts. Heat stole through her as she felt his fingertips caress her flesh once again, stretching in the katra vertex - as her new knowledge insisted the position was called - to encompass her brow, cheek and jaw. The delicious aroma of cinnamon surrounded her and with a soft moan of pure pleasure, she finally realised the scent belonged wholly to his hot skin.

She woke twice; the first time in need of something to ease tense throat muscles and quench a tsa'e-induced thirst increased further by the dry heat of her quarters. The need proved easily satisfied when she stumbled drowsily from the dais and ordered - in Ti-Valka'ain - a flask of water from the selector panel on the far wall. At least the computer understood her mangled syllables. It arrived within seconds ice-cold and pure, with a refreshingly, sweet taste that she found far preferable to the tangy heat of the Vulcan 'tea'.

The second disturbance came when her bladder insisted on being emptied an hour or two later. Not surprising, after she had imbibed both the first flask of water and half of another before settling back into sleep. Again, she rose, fumbled with the controls of the waste disposal unit, and finally got the recalcitrant contraption to open. However, by the time she had navigated the device, kept her balance, and seen to her physical comfort, any desire for further sleep had disappeared.

It was still very early in the ships diurnal cycle. A headache thumped behind her eyes in time to her beating heart. Her stomach also roiled queasily. A result of the tsa'e or of Sarek's mind-touch, or nervous tension at the thought of meeting him again, remained uncertain. Amanda had dated a few boys since she had learned there was more to them than 'snips, and snails, and puppy dog tails'. Her father, Charles, had encouraged her in the diversion, trusting her to use good judgement in her encounters. She had liked most of her beaus, appreciated a couple, but had yet to find one she could love. None of them had measured up to the enduring image of Charles. Mike Gorsky resembled Charles not only in looks, but also in personality. She had felt 'at home' with him almost instantly.

Sarek, on the other hand, was like no other male she had met before or could ever hope to meet in the future. He was truly alien, an unknown entity. She might not like to admit it, but while his natural authority and dominance frightened her more than a little, it also proved a powerful attraction. However much she might want to, she could not hide from his darkly dangerous gaze. In the briefness of the mind touch, he had witnessed her soul. His fire had ignited her blood. With that one single sizzling contact, intentional or not, she had become moth to his flame.

Still unable to sleep, she decided to arm herself in readiness for her appointment with him. It would not do to be late a second time.

After a leisurely sonic shower, she dressed carefully in another outfit she found concealed in her wardrobe, amused at Sarek's diligence. In all things except the colour, a tranquil forest green, it resembled the ensemble she had worn the day before. Amanda tamed her short curls in a neat chignon and following T'Shenra's example arranged the tasselled ch'ipau in exactly the same way. She used her cosmetics with a subtle hand, accentuating her lips and the azure of her eyes, camouflaging her pale cheeks. Thus prepared she left her cabin and sauntered through Insala's corridors towards Sarek's door. Head high and back straight, despite the nervous fluttering of her heart, she pressed his door buzzer and waited for him to answer the summons.


	10. A Little of What You Fancy

Until Sarek answered the door, hair tousled, and clad only in what had to be a hurriedly donned night robe, Amanda had not truly realized how early it really was. Made from pale amber cottony fabric, the robe provocatively clung to his broad chest and lean hips. Intended to fasten up both sides with short ties, in his obvious haste, he had missed a few of the chunky laces and the gaps in-between revealed that he wore nothing underneath.

At the knowledge, Amanda's face flushed scarlet but he appeared far more interested in her presence than his own state of undress. His gaze, though fleeting was mesmeric. As she stammered out a halting clarification for her premature arrival, he neatly sidestepped so that she could precede him into the room.

As on her previous two visits, his quarters were incredibly neat. Unsullied by a lone sock, or an open book, or the latest tape of his favourite recording, the russet carpet stretched to cream and salmon pink walls. However, the curtained off sleeping dais was still spread with night linen and further, a rumpled mat lay on the floor before a black stone plinth that she had failed to notice before, atop of which stood a statue of some strange winged, cat-like beast, a bowl filled with glowing embers held between its outstretched front paws.

"I'm disturbing you. Perhaps I should return later," She tried to apologise but he would have none of it.

"Indeed not, Miss Grayson. The fault is mine. As you see, I seek Attunement, a process I find better undertaken before breaking the night's fast - but which can be somewhat- absorbing. Have you eaten? Will you take tsa'e?"

Her newly implanted knowledge informed Amanda that, as she had thought the day before, it would be an insult to refuse. She dipped her head, "If it would please you, Kula' at."

Dark eyes observed her shrewdly, and she felt the blood once again rise into her cheeks as he dryly murmured, "Perhaps a weaker infusion would be preferable for your Q'uomi tastes. Please, sit."

o0o

With a clumsy grace, Amanda sank onto the cushioned seat she had occupied previously. Her eyes followed him as he strode across to the selector. Even his walk conveyed authority. On most Terrans, the sleeping gown would have appeared theatrical, or merely comical, but on Sarek, it emphasized his natural male hauteur, a presence and power she found spellbinding.

He came back with a plain stone tray bearing the ubiquitous blue crystal teapot, drinking bowls, and a plate of krayla, along with various other utensils and small dishes from which arose a mingling of mouth-watering steam. Sarek set the tray down between them, took his seat opposite, and patiently regarded her. It took Amanda a moment to realise that it was another lesson. She took a deep breath, feeling rather faint. He sat cross-legged. The posture pulled the ties of the sleeping gown even further apart to reveal a leanly muscled thigh and a tantalizing stretch of bare hip that drew her gaze.

Confused at the direction her thoughts had suddenly taken, she hastily cast her eyes down at the tray, while the disapproving voice of her conscience chided such impropriety. Swallowing hard, she wet dry lips with the tip of her tongue, struggling to regain a measure of composure. Her mind flashed abruptly to a recollection that she recognised was not her own. A moment later, she knew what her reaction should be.

Lifting her head, she met him eye to eye. "It is undignified for a woman to play servant to a man that is not hers, Kula' at Sarek."

"Quite so," He agreed, and although his tone was peremptory, Amanda sensed approval. "As my guest, therefore, it is my honour to serve you."

Without a pause, he indicated the contents of the tray, "An ancient proverb on my world instructs that if you are privileged in eating something original, your life will be lengthened by seventy-five years."

"Meaning that variety is the spice of life?" She ventured, looking at him with amused wonder.

Did his eyes soften in response or was it entirely her imagination?

"In recent years this small truth has fallen from grace among my people." He passed her a bowl, offering it with both hands. As she held it out in the same fashion, he poured a measure of tsa'e. "Have you eaten any of our foodstuffs before, Miss Grayson?"

"Only the krayla and tsa'e yesterday-"

"Indeed." His brow rose as if in awareness of her reservations. "We are essentially still a desert people. Resources for growing produce are limited. However, there is a misconception that we enjoy bland cuisine. You may now appreciate that, as with many other details of our culture, that belief is not entirely the case."

Amanda studied him, watching his eyes, trying to read what little expression he allowed, "There is much I do not know, Kula' at Sarek. But I do wish to learn - if you are willing to teach me."

The moment she voiced the desire, she knew how naïve it sounded, how gauche, even couched in the proper Ti-Valka'ain form. He must have thought so too, for a winged brow arched. But all he said was, "A further mind-touch will be necessary. Do you have any objections to that, Miss Grayson?"

Her heart leaped in silent answer, but she said only, "Indeed not, sir."

"You did not find the process debilitating? There were no ill-affects?"

She decided on the truth, "A slight headache, but I assumed that was my unfamiliarity with tsa'e."

"Remarkable," For a moment he considered her from beneath hooded lids, before he bent gracefully at the waist, and reached for a pair of tapered, chopstick-like, eating utensils from the tray. "These are called?"

The name for them popped unbidden into her head, "Jom'ir."

"You recall the appropriate phrase we speak before the start of a meal?"

"Ta'nara son-ghai sup ni da?" Amanda supplied, pronouncing the syllables with some care.

He inclined his head, "And its purpose?"

She contemplated the question, brow furrowed in concentration. "At one time, food was scarce. Meals were important. The literal meaning is 'I will eat well'."

"That is so. Even now, we do not ask in your way 'how are you?' but enquire 'have you eaten?' When the meal is over, the appropriate phrase is?"

"Ta'nara ut-ghai sup ni da. I have eaten well."

"Do not confuse them."

"Indeed not, Kula'at Sarek."

Again, he bent to the tray, indicated the assortment of small bowls and their contents. "As with krayla and tsa'e, another principal food on Vulcan is kahf. It appears in many variations and is always present on the table, whatever the meal. You are able to translate the term?"

The interpretation came to her as if she had known it all her life, along with the taste of subtle heat and sourness on her tongue. The recollection set her taste buds singing in anticipation. "Because of the severity of the climate, it was essential for food to be preserved for times of particular need. Vegetables were 'packed' into layers with natural salts, peppers and herbs until they fermented. Even now, kahf is made in exactly the same way it was in Surak's day."

Sarek picked up another bowl. He presented it with both hands as before. "One of many customs we continue to practice, although real hunger is now rare as we trade extensively with both our colony worlds and other species. Please, eat well, Miss Grayson."

The breakfast was the strangest Amanda had ever consumed. For the most part conducted in silence, she found her unexpected enjoyment of Vulcan cuisine a complete surprise. Though a 'memory' existed of eating such dishes for most of her life, each mouthful was also a new experience. She did not hesitate to hold out her drinking bowl when Sarek proffered the teapot. Even while she shuddered inwardly at each tiny sip of the distinctively flavoured tsa'e, she also acknowledged her desire for the drink. The preference for the herbal infusion had started to grow on her, just as Mike had told her it would.

Neither could she deny the conviction at the back of her mind that she needed the tsa'e for another successful mind-touch. Just the remembrance of Sarek's strong, yet responsive, fingers pressed lightly against her skin caused her heart to lurch and her pulses to quicken.

Wanton! Amanda thought with inward, ironic laughter. There had been nothing remotely intimate in his touch the day before, yet, like an adolescent school-girl, she had already concocted a whole host of silly romantic fantasies about him. Hopeless child, she told herself sternly, employing a phrase her father used often. He is Vulcan and Vulcans don't have such sensibilities. Rummaging carefully through her new knowledge, she realised that there seemed no concept in modern Ti-Valka'ain for the usual Human emotional responses. When she tried to translate 'love', her extensive lexicon came up blank. The same appeared true of jealously, anger, and grief. Even 'desire' had no direct translation and 'lust' only came back with 'appetite' as the derivative, an expression from much earlier in the history of the language. It was undoubtedly fascinating!

"Miss Grayson, you appear distracted. Are our dishes not to your taste?"

Startled, she looked up to find Sarek's enigmatic gaze fixed upon her, saturnine brows ominously drawn together. Could she still be broadcasting her thoughts to all and sundry? Her cheeks flamed again before his stare. Then, his eyes dropped to the almost empty bowl she held in silent explanation.

In her own Western culture, good manners decreed that a morsel or two remained uneaten, an indication of how well the host provided for his guests. On Vulcan, the opposite held true. At once, she chased the last small pieces of food around the bowl with the jom'ir and popped them into her mouth.

Replete she murmured, "ta'nara ut-ghai sup ni da," and meant it as she assiduously wiped her mouth and fingers, wrapped the used jom'ir in the moist napkin, and placed the small roll along with the delicate crystal bowl beside the other empty dishes.

"I am honoured." Sarek inclined his head, picked up the tray, and deposited it back into the selector recess. He returned but did not resume his seat. Instead, he studied her, one eyebrow on the rise. "Does your bladder need emptying, Miss Grayson?"

The question, uttered with the utmost seriousness almost made her choke. She hastily covered her mouth and masked her astonished laughter with a quick cough. However, she fooled no one with the subterfuge, it seemed.

"You find the enquiry amusing for some reason," He continued to regard her with unblinking intensity. "Humour is alien to me, particularly Q'uomi humour. Explain if you will."

She was in no doubt about his bafflement or the command in his voice, "Forgive me, Kula' at Sarek, I did not mean…"

"To be undisciplined?"

"To offend you," Blue eyes flashed as she met his gaze.

"Indeed?"

The butterflies danced in the pit of Amanda's stomach at his tone. He stood over her, boldly intimidating and yet she felt not fear exactly but an odd, primitive excitement. Her heart skittered as she tilted her head back to regard him. Their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity. Beyond her control, the muscles of her abdomen clenched, and heat rippled under her skin as a dizzying current arced through her.

"I don't mean to be insolent, sir. On my world, such a question is … demeaning. You might ask it of a child, though a decidedly young one. From one adult to another, particularly from a man to a woman, it is emphatically indiscreet."

"I stand corrected, Miss Grayson," Cross-legged as before, he settled into his chair, "Apparently, I also have much to learn."

Amanda swallowed tightly unable to suppress her abrupt awareness of him, entirely caught up in her own emotions. From somewhere deep within came the urge to touch him, to reach out and spread her fingers across his face as he had done to her the day before, to connect with him mind to mind. Disconcerted by the impulse she clasped her fingers together in her lap but she still could not tear her gaze away from his face.

Sarek regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, his voice velvet-edged but insistent, "The mind-touch is not a one-way process. If you will permit it, I would gain knowledge of your culture in the same way you learn of mine. What do you say, Miss Grayson? Will you instruct me in those things I cannot learn in any other way?"


	11. All Aboard for Kwil'inahr

All Aboard for Kwil'inahr

Early the following day, the Insala commenced a leisurely orbit of Vulcan. Ot-lan T'Shenra accompanied Mike and Amanda to the shuttle deck where a trim, sleekly designed courier-class vessel waited before the huge bay doors.

Sarek, already positioned in a seat beside the Vulcan pilot, turned and inclined his head in solemn greeting as T'Shenra and the two Humans settled quietly into three of the four rear places. The Vulcan lieutenant spoke to them quietly, "Mr Gorsky; Miss Grayson, if you will strap yourselves in. The K'homi is cleared for docking and Space Central awaits our arrival -"

On the forward view screen, Amanda saw the enormous bay doors slowly roll back. The craft lifted and headed swiftly toward the widening gap. She stiffened and held her breath in alarm but the pilot, obviously well versed in such procedures and with inches to spare on each side, cleared the breach without incident. When she sighed softly and relaxed into the seat cushions in sudden relief, she earned a knowing wink from Mike.

Silence descended on the cabin as the pilot brought the craft around and Vulcan appeared on the forward display situated just above Sarek's head. Even from space, the planet had a certain wild beauty.

While still one of the more forbidding landscapes imaginable, Amanda now saw that the fictional landscape she had devoured since childhood through the medium of holo-pix and vid-dramas hardly did the planet justice.

The psychic contact with Sarek had imparted a flood of definitely personal impressions. In her hour or two of 'free' time between his tutoring, helped by the enigmatic T'Shenra, Amanda had also backed up some of the essentials she had learned with less idiosyncratic research from the ships library. Despite the extra studies, and her own private belief that the popular idea of Vulcan as an arid desolation was misleading, it was still something of a surprise to look down from space onto wispy, cotton candy clouds - produced, she now knew, with moisture sucked up from the two major bodies of open water. The Thanar and Vorath seas were small by Earth standards but still quite respectable for a desert world.

Also quite visible as they swiftly soared over the saffron, vermilion and ochre surface were varied meteor craters and pockmarks – most prominent among them a further dry seabed that could only be the dehydrated remains of the great T'Kala Sea long ago turned entirely to sand. In many places the arched spines of ancient mountains, worn by millions of years of wind and sand erosion pressed through the earth, for all the world like the backbone of the mythical ak'weth, the underlier that allegedly resided below the desert floor.

She could almost smell the faint but distinctive cinnamon scent of the Sas-a-Shar borne on the hot mid-day breeze, feel the grittiness of sand beneath her sandaled feet; the soothing heat of Alam'ak, Vulcan's primary star, heavy on her shoulders and the crown of her head. Beautiful Ti' Valka'ain, Vulkhaniru, home-

The warmth of Amanda's reaction startled her. Only after a moment did she realise that both the telling images and the sensory impressions came from Sarek's experience, not her own; strange, how clear were the memories, how real the reminiscence. Did he realise how much insight they gave into his character? Whatever his outward expression revealed, Sarek was more than pleased to be home; his tie to this planet of his birth as great or greater than Amanda's to Sol III.

Did he have access to those feelings that influenced her in the same way? Would he now crave chocolate at certain times of the month, or suddenly adore the smell of eucalyptus after a rain shower. Would the velvet softness of a sun-warmed rose petal, clasped in reverent fingertips, fill him with sensuous delight? Until he finally grasped where that particular inclination really derived?

Bemused, she darted a glance in his direction. Unlike her, he was no amateur at these mind skills; he had to know how much detail crossed over - or did he? She was the first Human with whom he had shared a mind-touch. He could be just as unsure of the process as she was. The pressure points on her face tingled, those psionic channels by which he gained better access to her mind, and once again he turned in the seat webbing to look over his shoulder at her.

Tremulous, she wondered what else he had gleaned from her mind. He had blocked her thoughts from the Vulcan personnel on the ship but she could not control the gift. He had sole mastery over her thoughts. She had no power to prevent the invasion of her privacy whether accidental or intentional. Yet only his able fingers could provide an unrestricted and intimate entry into his world, a world normally off limits to Humans. His touch had become memory to her. Did he understand that his presence in her mind was a drug, a growing addiction?

For a moment, his gaze locked onto her questioning eyes, and communicated a private message – or so it seemed to Amanda, aware of the sudden pulsing knot in her stomach.

In memory, his 'voice' ghosted familiarly through her psyche, the way it had done back in his cabin,

Amanda-

Not an image, nor a sound, but a perception formed by his thought - followed by a rush of assimilation, of identification. The awareness of him inside her skull had the same emotional impact as a sexual encounter. His dynamic presence surged through her consciousness and permeated the darkness behind her eyes. Enthralled by the pure communion, unable to resist, she had surrendered to his possession, exalting in his male strength, astonished by the depth of sensation just the touch of his fingers on her skin created. His face so close their breath mingled, the scent of him filled her senses. Her entire body prickled with an emotional charge so strong it felt like a bolt from heaven.

Once again confronted with his profile as he turned from her she decided the cart had definitely gone before the horse. As her father might phrase it, they had eaten dessert before the starters! They had indulged in none of the usual Human foreplay. Not once had Amanda run her fingers through his unruly hair. They had never linked fingers or shared even a kiss. It made no difference that her inner knowledge now warned her that Vulcans did not indulge in such an illogical activity. During that long night alone in her cabin, the thought of Sarek's generous lips pressed against her own had filled Amanda's dreams. The attraction was completely irrational, exceptionally illogical, a silly juvenile infatuation. It could not have manifested at a more undesirable time, or with a more unattainable person. It was assuredly not mutual, as far as she could tell. Nor could she allow it to get in the way of her assignment. The Institute relied on her. Professor Kulren relied on her. She could not fail either one.

Some unknown instrument on the shuttle's control panel chimed sweetly - and brought her abruptly back from her daydream. She blinked, and glanced up at the changed display. Instead of Vulcan, the main viewscreen now showed an astonishingly sleek metal and Plexiglas creation, a space station that was also a city size work of art its lustrous opalescent surface shimmering in the radiance from Alam'ak. With consummate grace, the K'homi's pilot executed a sweeping turn that placed them in direct line with one of the station's ports. They docked with hardly a sound.

Mike's fingers lightly brushed against the back of the hand she held in her lap as he leaned over to whisper softly into her ear, "Welcome to Vulcan Space Central."

She glanced at him seeing the laughter in his eyes, the sunlit warmth of his smile, an exact opposite of Sarek's saturnine nature.

"It's …stunning," She declared, genuinely awed by the extraordinary sight.

"You are surprised, Miss Grayson?" Sarek's mellifluous baritone queried without warning, "Were you expecting something more utilitarian perhaps? Sturdy and practical, no doubt - or possibly feudal, the way your entertainment industry often portrays our world and its artefacts. "

"I really hadn't known what to expect, sir," she admitted, a little taken aback by his terseness, the brilliant smile she had bestowed a moment before on Mike quickly fading before Sarek's imperious stare, "I'm not a mathematician, but I can see some geometrical influences …"

"Indeed," he retorted shortly, before his eyes switched to her Human companion, much to Amanda's relief. "It is our way to combine art and science, to unite efficiency with good design, is that not so, Gorsky?"

Mike, having already withdrawn his hand, snapped solemnly to attention as he cheerfully agreed with Sarek's assessment. "Indeed it is, sir."

Sarek's eyes fastened on Amanda again, held her gaze almost by the force of his will, twin searchlights, incisive and penetrating as if he hoped to catch her out in some nameless treachery, "Whatever non-Vulcans believe, we appreciate beauty – in all its various forms. The last great work of Es'laran, an artist–architect from Surak's time - Kwil'inahr - known to you as Vulcan Space Central - lies in geosynchronous orbit above the city of ShiKahr. We will pass through immigration and after you have received your inoculations and purification we will proceed to the surface…"

Amanda had received full spectrum immunization before leaving Sol system. She queried tentatively, "Inoculations? Purification?"

"Decontamination – to get rid of any nasty Terran bugs you might be carrying." Mike reassured her. "The inoculations will help you deal with Vulcan's environment. It's just a formality, nothing to worry about."

"Undoubtedly," Sarek intoned dryly. "The station retains a sickbay and campus of the Science Academy's Space and Xenological Medical School. You will need your personal details and medical history. I presume you have your data chip at hand …"

"Oh … yes. Of course."

She fumbled in the pocket of the traditional Vulcan jacket she wore but he forestalled her with a quirk of one eyebrow. "Gorsky will assist you with the immigration process, Miss Grayson. I have other … concerns to which I must attend. We will convene once more at the shuttle transportation bay. Please ensure you are in good time for the flight."

T'Shenra had already released the airlock control and without another word, they both swept out leaving the two Humans staring after them.

4

 

Early the following day, the Insala commenced a leisurely orbit of Vulcan. Ot-lan T'Shenra accompanied Mike and Amanda to the shuttle deck where a trim, sleekly designed courier-class vessel waited before the huge bay doors.

Sarek, already positioned in a seat beside the Vulcan pilot, turned and inclined his head in solemn greeting as T'Shenra and the two Humans settled quietly into three of the four rear places. The Vulcan lieutenant spoke to them quietly, "Mr Gorsky; Miss Grayson, if you will strap yourselves in. The K'homi is cleared for docking and Space Central awaits our arrival -"

On the forward view screen, Amanda saw the enormous bay doors slowly roll back. The craft lifted and headed swiftly toward the widening gap. She stiffened and held her breath in alarm but the pilot, obviously well versed in such procedures and with inches to spare on each side, cleared the breach without incident. When she sighed softly and relaxed into the seat cushions in sudden relief, she earned a knowing wink from Mike.

Silence descended on the cabin as the pilot brought the craft around and Vulcan appeared on the forward display situated just above Sarek's head. Even from space, the planet had a certain wild beauty.

While still one of the more forbidding landscapes imaginable, Amanda now saw that the fictional landscape she had devoured since childhood through the medium of holo-pix and vid-dramas hardly did the planet justice.

The psychic contact with Sarek had imparted a flood of definitely personal impressions. In her hour or two of 'free' time between his tutoring, helped by the enigmatic T'Shenra, Amanda had also backed up some of the essentials she had learned with less idiosyncratic research from the ships library. Despite the extra studies, and her own private belief that the popular idea of Vulcan as an arid desolation was misleading, it was still something of a surprise to look down from space onto wispy, cotton candy clouds - produced, she now knew, with moisture sucked up from the two major bodies of open water. The Thanar and Vorath seas were small by Earth standards but still quite respectable for a desert world.

Also quite visible as they swiftly soared over the saffron, vermilion and ochre surface were varied meteor craters and pockmarks – most prominent among them a further dry seabed that could only be the dehydrated remains of the great T'Kala Sea long ago turned entirely to sand. In many places the arched spines of ancient mountains, worn by millions of years of wind and sand erosion pressed through the earth, for all the world like the backbone of the mythical ak'weth, the underlier that allegedly resided below the desert floor.

She could almost smell the faint but distinctive cinnamon scent of the Sas-a-Shar borne on the hot mid-day breeze, feel the grittiness of sand beneath her sandaled feet; the soothing heat of Alam'ak, Vulcan's primary star, heavy on her shoulders and the crown of her head. Beautiful Ti' Valka'ain, Vulkhaniru, home-

The warmth of Amanda's reaction startled her. Only after a moment did she realise that both the telling images and the sensory impressions came from Sarek's experience, not her own; strange, how clear were the memories, how real the reminiscence. Did he realise how much insight they gave into his character? Whatever his outward expression revealed, Sarek was more than pleased to be home; his tie to this planet of his birth as great or greater than Amanda's to Sol III.

Did he have access to those feelings that influenced her in the same way? Would he now crave chocolate at certain times of the month, or suddenly adore the smell of eucalyptus after a rain shower. Would the velvet softness of a sun-warmed rose petal, clasped in reverent fingertips, fill him with sensuous delight? Until he finally grasped where that particular inclination really derived?

Bemused, she darted a glance in his direction. Unlike her, he was no amateur at these mind skills; he had to know how much detail crossed over - or did he? She was the first Human with whom he had shared a mind-touch. He could be just as unsure of the process as she was. The pressure points on her face tingled, those psionic channels by which he gained better access to her mind, and once again he turned in the seat webbing to look over his shoulder at her.

Tremulous, she wondered what else he had gleaned from her mind. He had blocked her thoughts from the Vulcan personnel on the ship but she could not control the gift. He had sole mastery over her thoughts. She had no power to prevent the invasion of her privacy whether accidental or intentional. Yet only his able fingers could provide an unrestricted and intimate entry into his world, a world normally off limits to Humans. His touch had become memory to her. Did he understand that his presence in her mind was a drug, a growing addiction?

For a moment, his gaze locked onto her questioning eyes, and communicated a private message – or so it seemed to Amanda, aware of the sudden pulsing knot in her stomach.

In memory, his 'voice' ghosted familiarly through her psyche, the way it had done back in his cabin,

Amanda-

Not an image, nor a sound, but a perception formed by his thought - followed by a rush of assimilation, of identification. The awareness of him inside her skull had the same emotional impact as a sexual encounter. His dynamic presence surged through her consciousness and permeated the darkness behind her eyes. Enthralled by the pure communion, unable to resist, she had surrendered to his possession, exalting in his male strength, astonished by the depth of sensation just the touch of his fingers on her skin created. His face so close their breath mingled, the scent of him filled her senses. Her entire body prickled with an emotional charge so strong it felt like a bolt from heaven.

Once again confronted with his profile as he turned from her she decided the cart had definitely gone before the horse. As her father might phrase it, they had eaten dessert before the starters! They had indulged in none of the usual Human foreplay. Not once had Amanda run her fingers through his unruly hair. They had never linked fingers or shared even a kiss. It made no difference that her inner knowledge now warned her that Vulcans did not indulge in such an illogical activity. During that long night alone in her cabin, the thought of Sarek's generous lips pressed against her own had filled Amanda's dreams. The attraction was completely irrational, exceptionally illogical, a silly juvenile infatuation. It could not have manifested at a more undesirable time, or with a more unattainable person. It was assuredly not mutual, as far as she could tell. Nor could she allow it to get in the way of her assignment. The Institute relied on her. Professor Kulren relied on her. She could not fail either one.

Some unknown instrument on the shuttle's control panel chimed sweetly - and brought her abruptly back from her daydream. She blinked, and glanced up at the changed display. Instead of Vulcan, the main viewscreen now showed an astonishingly sleek metal and Plexiglas creation, a space station that was also a city size work of art its lustrous opalescent surface shimmering in the radiance from Alam'ak. With consummate grace, the K'homi's pilot executed a sweeping turn that placed them in direct line with one of the station's ports. They docked with hardly a sound.

Mike's fingers lightly brushed against the back of the hand she held in her lap as he leaned over to whisper softly into her ear, "Welcome to Vulcan Space Central."

She glanced at him seeing the laughter in his eyes, the sunlit warmth of his smile, an exact opposite of Sarek's saturnine nature.

"It's …stunning," She declared, genuinely awed by the extraordinary sight.

"You are surprised, Miss Grayson?" Sarek's mellifluous baritone queried without warning, "Were you expecting something more utilitarian perhaps? Sturdy and practical, no doubt - or possibly feudal, the way your entertainment industry often portrays our world and its artefacts. "

"I really hadn't known what to expect, sir," she admitted, a little taken aback by his terseness, the brilliant smile she had bestowed a moment before on Mike quickly fading before Sarek's imperious stare, "I'm not a mathematician, but I can see some geometrical influences …"

"Indeed," he retorted shortly, before his eyes switched to her Human companion, much to Amanda's relief. "It is our way to combine art and science, to unite efficiency with good design, is that not so, Gorsky?"

Mike, having already withdrawn his hand, snapped solemnly to attention as he cheerfully agreed with Sarek's assessment. "Indeed it is, sir."

Sarek's eyes fastened on Amanda again, held her gaze almost by the force of his will, twin searchlights, incisive and penetrating as if he hoped to catch her out in some nameless treachery, "Whatever non-Vulcans believe, we appreciate beauty – in all its various forms. The last great work of Es'laran, an artist–architect from Surak's time - Kwil'inahr - known to you as Vulcan Space Central - lies in geosynchronous orbit above the city of ShiKahr. We will pass through immigration and after you have received your inoculations and purification we will proceed to the surface…"

Amanda had received full spectrum immunization before leaving Sol system. She queried tentatively, "Inoculations? Purification?"

"Decontamination – to get rid of any nasty Terran bugs you might be carrying." Mike reassured her. "The inoculations will help you deal with Vulcan's environment. It's just a formality, nothing to worry about."

"Undoubtedly," Sarek intoned dryly. "The station retains a sickbay and campus of the Science Academy's Space and Xenological Medical School. You will need your personal details and medical history. I presume you have your data chip at hand …"

"Oh … yes. Of course."

She fumbled in the pocket of the traditional Vulcan jacket she wore but he forestalled her with a quirk of one eyebrow. "Gorsky will assist you with the immigration process, Miss Grayson. I have other … concerns to which I must attend. We will convene once more at the shuttle transportation bay. Please ensure you are in good time for the flight."

T'Shenra had already released the airlock control and without another word, they both swept out leaving the two Humans staring after them.

4


	12. Just One Kiss

"Great, I was hoping he'd do that." Mike grinned at Amanda's open-mouth before he lightly grasped her hand, "Now the parents have left us alone we can have some fun."

He turned to the Vulcan pilot - waiting with patient grace for them to depart so that she could return to the Insala - bowed perfunctorily, uttered a brief farewell, and then shepherded her through the airlock.

"But … what about the inoculations…and the decontamination, " Amanda stuttered, shuddering inwardly at what that might actually mean as Mike whisked her down a deserted, orange-lit corridor towards another intersection at the far end, "Shouldn't we…?"

"Trust me. We will - but not just yet! This may be our only opportunity to explore Kwil'inahr for another six months." His grin widened at the look she threw him. "Once we've gone through decon, we won't be allowed back. Come on, where's your sense of adventure? "

"Gibbering in a corner," she advised him, only half jokingly. "Sarek specifically told us not to be late…"

He stopped in mid-stride, turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders, head on one side. A quirky smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he asked softly, "And are you going to do everything Sarek tells you from now on?"

"Of course not." Hot blood swept up her neck and into her cheeks. "I … don't want to antagonise him unnecessarily, that's all."

"He's a Vulcan," Mike stated. "It's not possible to antagonise him."

"Never?"

"Not that you'd notice." He shook his head in perplexed wonder at her wide-eyed look, and groaned theatrically. "Please don't tell me you've fallen for him, Amanda?"

o0o

He silenced her quick rebuttal with a finger on her lips, "It's happened before. You wouldn't be the first by any means. Human women fall at his feet on a regular basis. Tell me, is it the pointed ears, or maybe … all that supposedly repressed emotion?"

Irritated by his observation, Amanda batted his finger away. "I don't intend to deny it…"

"Hah! I thought so…"

The blue of her eyes intensified darkening with sudden anger as she regarded him, "Only because it's not correct."

No, she thought, I'm not falling in love… I've already fallen! The fiery glare she directed at him masked her discomfort.

Mike drew away and raised his hands as if in entreaty. "I hope that's true, Amanda, for all our sakes. This is not the time to get involved – and with Sarek of all people."

"You don't have to remind me of that," she exclaimed. "I'm not a child, Mike – and you aren't my father."

"No…no, I'm not." He ran light fingers through his hair in exasperation. Expression troubled, he continued to observe her. He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. Neither of them needed reminding that they were on a Vulcan station. "Perhaps that's the problem…"

"You'd prefer to be my father?" She murmured back in mock innocence, mistaking his meaning on purpose.

But the ingenuousness of the remark brought the twinkle back to his eyes and a slight upward tilt to his lips.

"Not likely," he exclaimed. He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and planted a soft kiss into her palm. "I've seen how you look at Sarek, that's all. How he looks at you, Amanda. I don't want you to get hurt."

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and swept over her breasts, soft as a caress. By no means oblivious to his appeal, Amanda understood his unspoken invitation. Her body, roused inadvertently by Sarek's tender incursion into her mind the day before, reacted to the stimulus. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears and her pulses raced. Unable to prevent it, she swayed towards him. Immediately his arms enveloped her, pulled her into an embrace. The next moment, Mike's mouth covered hers in hungry possession.


	13. Vulcan Eyes Aren't Smiling

Amanda's emotions whirled as Mike's mouth descended. Her senses swam.

Light as a summer breeze, his lips brushed hers in tender deliberation. Sensation flowed through her veins, sweet molasses – luscious - thick and slow.

In turn, Amanda savoured the taste of him, the scent of citrus in her nostrils. She luxuriated in the warm clasp of his arms, the subdued thunder of his heart against her breast. Yet, behind her closed lids, the face conjured out of the darkness belonged to Sarek. Even wrapped in Mike's embrace she still could not excise the perception of the Vulcan diplomat's fingertips pressed against her katra points. The mere thought of his touch and a heated tingle of arousal arrowed through her taut nerves.

Palms flat against Mike's chest, the zesty lemon tang of him still on her lips, Amanda broke the embrace. "Mike, I can't do this. I'm sorry, really I am, but … I just can't…"

His fair brows knit together over concerned brown eyes. "Amanda, not just Sarek's ears and eyebrows are different. You have to realise that."

"Mike, I told you Sarek has nothing to do with … with my feelings …"The protest was half-hearted. It sounded terribly feeble even to her ears. She desperately wanted to ask 'how does he look at me? What do you see that I don't'? But instead, she said, "It's only been two days. I hardly know him."

He exhaled through his front teeth, a quiet, resigned sigh. "Sarek chose you for this mission for a reason, Amanda – one, based wholly on logic, you can bet your last credit on that."

Which, certainly, excluded love at first sight – or even second sight, she thought.

"Don't you think I've wondered why too? If he had a specific purpose for choosing me over someone else from the Cultural Institute, I don't know what it is. I'm not in his confidence, Mike."

He accepted that, though it took a moment before his lips curved reluctantly up in the smile she had come to know and appreciate. His eyes softened in amused fellow feeling, "No argument there. But Sarek's net was thrown further than the Cultural Institute. He investigated candidates from all over the Earth. Whatever the cause, you're one special lady to him, Amanda."

At her amazed expression, he took her face between his hands and kissed her once more, lightly - on the brow - his laugh tender, half amused, half impatient. "Okay, we're still both in the dark about his motives, that's nothing new. Sarek plays his cards close to his chest."

His grin widened, wickedly impudent, "But please, promise me not to get sucked in by that boyish charm of his…"

Boyish charm?

"Are we talking about the same Sarek?" She threw him a disparaging look - sticking out her tongue - just as a group of three Vulcans, two women and a man, dressed in floor-length sombre robes, turned the corner into the corridor.

Mike and Amanda instantly separated. Even so, three pairs of relentless Vulcan eyes inspected them both with careful intent.

o0o


	14. Mind, Body, and Spirit

The taller and eldest of the two women stopped before them, while her two companions flanked each side. Offspring most likely, Amanda decided for there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Amanda wondered if Professor Tolkien had ever crossed paths with a Vulcan or two before he had come up with his Elvish kin in Lord of the Rings. These three, definitely cast in the same mould, reminded her instantly of Celebrian's people.

Transported from the Elven kingdoms of Laurelindórenan or Imladris, the high cheekbones, straight noses, and proud foreheads were identical on all three - though the features of the womenfolk were less severely chiselled than on the male. All were astonishingly tall - overshadowing even Mike by an inch or two - and uniformly handsome in a spare, lissom sort of way.

They were again minutely scrutinized. "You are Q'uomi, is that not so?"

Amanda flashed a startled look at Mike at the question before remembering her manners. She bowed slightly from the shoulders and replied in Standard, the language used by the Vulcan Elder. "Indeed we are, T'sai. I am Amanda Carynese Grayson, from Sol III."

"I have heard of it." The cool brown eyes probed Amanda, assessed her youth, her stature, and dismissed her – as evidently innocuous. Mike did not even rate a glance. "What of your en'ahr'at, your sponsor on the Station? Why are they not with you here?"

Amanda lifted her chin, copying Mike's stance, hands locked behind her thighs in an attitude of respect, "Sarek, ansh'oine au t'skon s'kahri T'Phra. We are instructed to meet him - after purification - at the shuttle departure lounge."

At mention of Sarek's name, or maybe it was the reference to the purification ceremony, the trio of Vulcans seemed to catch their collective breath. The Elder regained her equilibrium first. "The rite is long and your time is short, child. I advocate alacrity. Convey to the Kula' at the greetings of T'Pa'melasht ansho'ine ahr t'sanshiin kah T'Vhelasht when you meet with him."

Amanda managed not to flinch aside from the iron gaze. Blue eyes locked on brown. "Indeed, I will, Lady."

"Our House is his," T'sai T'Pa'melasht inclined her regal head. "The route is familiar to you?"

"My companion knows the way, Lady. "

T'Pa'melasht's cool gaze studied Mike with impassive calm, "And you are called?"

"Mikhail Gorsky, T'sai."

"From the Tehr'n enclave."

"That is so, T'sai T'Pa'melasht."

"Sarek has entrusted this child to your care?"

Solemnly, Mike inclined his head, "He has, T'sai."

The Vulcan Elder's face remained impassive but for an instant, she exchanged a look with her male offspring. She met and held Amanda's gaze once more, "Kwil'inahr is large. It would not do for you to lose your way. Sanshoum will escort you."

Amanda not daring to look at Mike blurted, "The suggestion is most kind, but … unnecessary, Lady. We have delayed you and your family far too long."

"The interruption is minor and of little consequence. Sanshoum, take them to their destination." It was not a request.

"M'aih." Sanshoum bowed discreetly to his mother, nodded to his sister and robes swirling about booted ankles, turned on his heel. "The purification … facility … is this way. You will follow …"

He marched them, his long legs moving at some speed, to a turbo-lift that hurtled them elsewhere at even greater velocity. Apparently, Sanshoum had nothing of value to say to them during the short journey. He did not speak again. Amanda followed Mike's lead and also remained silent.

The doors opened the instant the lift came to a cushioned halt. They stepped out into a circular chamber with a vermilion-tiled floor that gave slightly beneath Amanda's feet. Light, orange-hued but muted, shone down from several decorative wall sconces occupying niches in frescoed panels that ran from floor to ceiling.

A Vulcan woman clothed in diaphanous white linen waited there before a second entrance. A silver circlet adorned with twin iridescent crystals shaped in a 'v' bound back her long black hair at the brow. From those transplanted memories of Sarek's came the word, 'ta'al' – and with the word came an image - a mountain peak pronged in exactly the same way. Mount Seleya. Amanda knew the woman before them was a priestess there, a reldai of the sprawling temple hewn by mind, and might, from out of mountain stone.

Sanshoum stepped out in front and raised his hand; fingers spread in another version of that same sign, "Peace, and long life, Reldai Pesht'Ihai. We come to serve."

The priestess inclined her head in graceful acceptance, replying in a soft voice that nevertheless carried well. She spoke in Vulcan, "Thy service honours us, Sanshoum ansh'oine au t'shiinaj kah s'kahri T'Pa'melasht…"

Hidden effectively behind Sanshoum's back, Amanda sidled nearer to Mike.

To attract his attention she nudged his arm and when he looked at her, silently mouthed, "I'm-sorry-"

His left eyebrow rose in such perfect imitation of Sarek's that Amanda almost giggled. Without speaking aloud, his lips clearly enunciating each word he asked, "Sorry-for-what?"

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek, managed to control her laughter, "That- we- missed-our-sightseeing-tour. Maybe-next-time-"

In reply, he rolled his eyes and raised a finger to his lips - a request for silence.

The priestess was still speaking, some traditional rite by the sound of it. "Why come thee here, son of Shiinaj, son of Shamouj?"

A poke in the ribs got his attention for the second time. He glared at her in mock ferocity as she mouthed, "What's-going-on?"

"No-idea." He shrugged and shook his head, "Never-done-this-before."

For a moment, Amanda thought he must be joking again, but swiftly realised by his fascinated expression and the way he strained to listen to the on-going conversation that he spoke the truth. The ceremony was as strange to him as it was to her.

Her neck hairs prickled abruptly and goose bumps rose along her arms although the room temperature was, as far as she could tell, close to Vulcan norm. Hot.

Though, Mike had been raised in the Terran Enclave he had told her this was not his first time off world. He had spent some years on Earth completing his schooling, then later, his training for the Cultural Institute. He must have gone through decontamination each time he returned to Vulcan. But this time, the procedure had changed.

"In the name of Sarek ansh'oine au t'skon kah s'kahri T'Phra, on behalf of these Q'uomi," Sanshoum intoned, I ask for pa'shu i'ki tama vai, the cleansing of mind, body and spirit."


	15. Drum Beat Out Of Time

Reldai Pesht'Ihai looked beyond Sanshoum to Mike and Amanda. A glint of what might be conjecture in the serene inspection, she met and held Amanda's concerned gaze. A strange quiet fell. Awed by the silence, Amanda's breath stilled in her throat, caught in the spell of the reldai's depthless, black-satin eyes.

"Come to me, Child."

Amanda shivered in the heat of the small antechamber; found her feet moving toward the priestess without her conscious volition. It seemed a natural enough act to kneel before the tall and slender Vulcan woman.

"I would feel thy thoughts. Will thee permit this?"

The hot, dry air of the Vulcan station seemed abruptly insubstantial, but Amanda bowed her head in agreement and readiness, "Certainly, Reldai Pesht'Ihai."

With permission established, the priestess reached out, and stroked a finger along Amanda's temple. White fire burned along with the touch and Amanda gasped aloud. A powerful consciousness probed deep into her mind. Unlike Sarek's mind-touch, however, this latest infiltration had neither individuality nor character. Amanda sensed only an indefinable intellect. Helpless to prevent it, the doors of her mind opened, one after another. An indifferent force delved through her memories, her thoughts, her inmost privacy…

Shock turned quickly to fury. The arrogance of that casual invasion, the way Pesht'Ihai rifled through Amanda's secret-self had her seething with rage and humiliation. Within the boundary of her psyche, she struggled futilely against the intrusion. Then, unexpectedly, some reflex, previously unknown to her, kicked in. A barrier dropped, blocked the reldai's access. Sarek's construction, the screen he had formed to contain her thoughts from the crew of the Insala. It had to be.

The hand withdrew abruptly from her brow.

Pulses thumping, her breath fitful and ragged, Amanda flung herself onto her feet. Arms rigid by her sides, hands curled into fists, she raised her chin and glared at Reldai Pesht'Ihai. Though shaking with anger, there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say.

The priestess ethereal, wraithlike in the ochre light, her smooth skin glowing with pale gold undertones, merely inclined her beautiful head, face expressionless, though apparently quite aware of Amanda's dilemma, "Thee are strong willed for a Q'uomi, Amanda Carynese Grayson."

Did the soft tone possess a note of approval, Amanda wondered, or commiseration? It was difficult to tell from the enigmatic expression on Pesht'Ihai's delicate, heart shaped features. Puzzled, she wanted to ask for clarification but suddenly did not dare.

The priestess stepped aside from the inner doorway, which swept open as if at some silent command. "Enter now into Seleya's precincts. Let the purification begin."

Once through the door it blurred and disappeared.

Though Amanda knew they had not left the confines of the station, she, Pesht'Ihai, and Mike now appeared to be standing on a rugged, sandy plain at the foot of a mountain. A flight of seemingly endless steps, carved into the mountain's ochre flank, led up to a narrow bridge that spanned the chasm between twin cones – the slender link between two worlds. There was no sign of Sanshoum. He had not entered the chamber with them. Perhaps, his task completed, he had rejoined his mother and sister.

It was the best holo-pic Amanda had ever seen, the virtual reality complete to the very last detail, with a depth and clarity that could not be faulted. Above them the sky shaded into crimson dusk. Here and there, set between huge pillars of age-old stone, guttering torches flamed against the crepuscular gloom. A playful zephyr ruffled Mike's short hair and stirred Pesht'Ihai's ghostly draperies. Somewhere, not far off strains of alien music, the lilting notes of some kind of harp and the quick throb of a small drum thrummed rhythmically on the cinnamon scented air while nearby, wind chimes clashed and tinkled in vocal response.

Grit crunched under Amanda's Vulcan slippers as she took a step toward that rising stair, the memory awakening of Sarek when just a young child preparing to ascend. The recollection produced a strong sensation of trepidation strangely mixed with profound feelings of expectation. He was not alone. Other children, both boys and girls arranged in pairs, made an orderly procession behind his lead. A young girl stood at his side, dark hair secured with white flowers, dressed in ceremonial robes, her small fingers laid lightly along the back of his hand … never and always touching and touched…

The small hairs on the back of Amanda's neck prickled. A tremor ran up her spine. The girl's name popped unbidden into her mind, a stone dropped into still waters: T'Reah. He was married. Sarek was already bonded to T'Reah. The ripples spread outward in a welter of telling images. Amanda's mind reeled from the impact.

Her preoccupation shattered at Pesht'Ihai's mention of her name. The reldai barred her path. "That Way is not thine, Amanda Carynese Grayson. Come, this is the Path thee must take…"

The priestess walked on as Amanda and Mike fell into step behind her, following a well-trodden route under a major arch. More torches flared into life, revealing a sandy trail that led unerringly to the rough-hewn entrance of what appeared to be a cave opening, darkly mysterious.

No words were spoken as Pesht'Ihai led them over the threshold. It was all so amazingly real and lifelike that Amanda had difficulty remembering she was simply immersed in a holo-pic and not on Vulcan at all. The only light came from over their shoulders as they moved single file further into the dim interior of - not a cave - but a narrow passageway, the walls uneven, the roof so low even Amanda, the shortest of the three, had to bow her head.

It grew steadily darker until only a glimmer of light was left to show them the way, and while Pesht'Ihai trod calmly onward, Mike, preceded by Amanda, shuffled nervously after the reldai step by cautious step.

"Watch out," she warned Mike in a whisper after what seemed an eternity of groping about in the dark with her outstretched foot, "there're several steps here…."

Gingerly, they descended the rocky stair, which at least elevated the roof enough for Mike to stand upright again. Another few steps brought them to a bend in the passage and orange light suddenly shone up ahead. A door had apparently opened further on.

Pesht'Ihai stood before it, waiting for them, accompanied by two acolytes, a man, and woman. Over their white robes, they each wore a long tabard of scarlet cloth, embossed with a single sigil of Vulcan script high upon the breast. The reldai nodded to her companions and both stepped forward, moving between Amanda and Mike with such quiet authority that neither thought to question the action.

"Cleansing of the body is the first step of purification," The reldai informed them, her voice soft and impassive, yet quite adamant. "T'Lachtli and Zhamujan will attend thee. They will require any medical data chips thee may have."

The two Humans exchanged a quick glance but Pesht'Ihai left them no choice in the matter. Without protest, they handed over their medical records.

"Pa'shu i'ki tama vai is, by tradition, conducted in silence. Thee will not question or confront whatever ensues. Is this acceptable?"

Again, Mike and Amanda shared one telling look between them. Mike shrugged, philosophical. For a second time, they both realised there was no option if the purification was to proceed – and without it, they would not be allowed onto Vulcan proper.

"We will abide by thy custom, Reldai Pesht'Ihai," Amanda confirmed.

The priestess bowed from the shoulders, before nodding to the acolytes. "Take them. When they are prepared, bring them to me."

Without a word, or touch, the two Humans were led to adjoining rooms further down the long corridor. They separated at each room's access. Amanda followed T'Lachtli while Mike trailed after Zhamujan.

Once beyond the threshold, Amanda found what she had half expected, a room solidly laden with alien unknowns. But none of the elegant, sculpted-looking, interlocking equipment of crystal and white veined red marble, enclosed in a pool of bright tawny light, could disguise the function of the octagonal stone plinth raised waist high off the floor.

The Vulcan acolyte looked young - no more than twenty-five or so - but there again, so did Sarek – and looks were no indication of age. Amanda guessed T'Lachtli owned the dual role of celebrant and physician. Neither was she overly surprised when the girl, softly spoken, commanded her to strip. Remembering her promise to Pesht'Ihai, Amanda quietly obeyed, depositing her clothes in a neat pile on the only available place – the floor. Once completely naked, she obligingly, if somewhat bashfully, clambered upon the table and without protest stretched out on her back.

There followed the most complete physical she had ever undergone, mercifully short but very thorough. T'Lachtli spoke to the computer, which scanned Amanda with a variety of equipment. At the same time, the Vulcan physician took samples of blood, hair and skin. After consulting the data panels inset within the plinth, she fetched a hypospray and expelled the contents of it against Amanda's neck.

But when Amanda tried to rise thinking the ordeal over, the Vulcan bade her remain on the table with arms stretched out above her head and her legs apart. Once she had obeyed, the amber glow that bathed the plinth changed hue. A soft hum started up, the radiance turned golden, and grew brighter still. Amanda closed her eyes against the dazzle. Subtle vibration spread through her from head to toe along with a sudden heat concentrated especially in her armpits and groin. It lasted no longer than a moment or two, but when she sat up at T'Lachtli's command, she noticed a fine dusting of whitish powder over her skin. With a start, she realised the dust was actually ash. Apart from her short curls and eyebrows, the rest of her body was completely smooth, the hair and top layer of skin burned away.

T'Lachtli touched a stud on the plinth's control panel and a fan whirred into life sucking away the residue. She spoke to the computer once more and a white linen robe appeared. The Vulcan acolyte bowed as she held out the garment in both hands to Amanda, bowing from the shoulders.

"Thee must dress now, T'sai Grayson."

o0o


	16. Phoenix From The Flames

Her own clothes were no longer where she had left them. T'Lachtli saw her look and inclined her head, "Thy garments will be returned after the ceremony concludes."

The floor length gown, long sleeved and high-necked, with a cowl-like hood, fitted her exactly. Flowing Vulcan script decorated a panel down the front fastening. A phrase entered Amanda's mind: veshtau'svai kau hohnaya – experience increases wisdom. A venerable Vulcan saying no doubt, though she had no idea whether originally coined by Sarek or something he had learned. It sounded appropriately astute - especially in the circumstances!

Still barefoot and without a stitch of underwear, feeling vaguely decadent without it, Amanda followed T'Lachtli from the room. Mike, dressed likewise in a long robe, bare toes peeping modestly from beneath the hem, waited in the corridor with his attendant acolyte. His left eyebrow rose as he gazed at her in obvious enquiry.

Her cheeks coloured in response as she quickly nodded, aware that he, too, must be naked beneath the robe he wore - and that he had probably guessed about her own state of undress. She did not know which she found most embarrassing, especially when a little voice inside her head asked what the rest of the Vulcan purification ceremony might involve.

They followed the sound of the drum, the soft drubbing gradually increasing in tempo as T'Lachtli and Zhamujan led them back up the rocky passageway to where they had left Pesht'Ihai.

Orange light spilled out from around the edges of the roughly hewn stone door. As they reached it, the two acolytes parted, each taking up a position either side of the opening. T'Lachtli bowed and beckoned the two Humans forward into the room beyond.

That first step into the unknown proved a hard one for Amanda. Her heart thudded against her ribs matching the rhythm of the drum that continued to pulsate wildly, the pounding beat issuing from behind the door. She cast a nervous glance at Mike. However when he correctly interpreted her look and stepped in front to precede her, Zhamujan abruptly intervened. The Vulcan celebrant held up an imperious hand, dark eyes narrowed in warning.

Apparently, there was no other alternative but for her to go first. She pushed at the heavy-looking door. To Amanda's surprise, at the first touch of her fingertips it opened without difficulty, swinging back on silent hinges. The drum fell silent.

Again the room beyond was circular, seemingly a favourite architectural principle, and about thirty paces wide. Pyramid-shaped lamps formed from some unworked crystalline substance glowed in niches hollowed out of the smooth rock walls; the radiance playing flickering light and shadow games with a half-obscured fresco of life sized ceremonial figures. A sunken fire-pit, filled to the brim with hot coals, occupied a central place, the raised hearth decorated with strange runes. Even at the periphery the heat was oppressive, it hammered up through the red stone-tiled floor scorching the soles of Amanda's bare feet. The very air sizzled; it burned in her throat and lungs, thick with the scent of aromatic incense and exotic spice.

Pesht'Ihai was there, standing on the far side of the fire-pit clothed now in a long wide tabard of scarlet over her white linen gown, a deep pectoral of rose gold set with huge ruby stones clasped about shoulders and waist.

The reldai bowed with perfect grace, "Q'uomi, though thee are, thee has requested pa'shu i'ki tama vai, the purification of body, mind and spirit. What thee are about to observe prevails without change from the Time of the Beginning. It is part of the Vulcan Way, part of the Vulcan soul. Thee must give thy word never to speak of it. Will thee so swear, Amanda Carynese Grayson, daughter of Earth?"

Amanda swallowed in a dry throat, answered huskily with words that came unbidden to her tongue, though once spoken they seemed unquestionably true, "With my life, Reldai Pesht'Ihai."

The priestess inclined her head in acknowledgement. She switched her attention to Mike, "And thee Mikhail Gorsky, son of Earth, with thy life forfeit, will thee also swear?"

His answer seemed long in coming to Amanda, but with a sigh of relief she eventually heard him say, "I…do so swear, Reldai Pesht'Ihai."

"So be it. Kah-if-farr!"

At the signal, bells rang with the penetrating intensity of ting-sha chimes, dissonant, loud and disturbing to the ear. They rang again as T'Lachtli handed the priestess a large round bowl filled with herbs. Pesht'Ihai took a handful of the shredded plants scattering the contents upon the hot coals before her. Flames leaped, crimson twined with gold and the air filled with a heady, intoxicating fragrance…

Thereafter, Amanda moved in a curious daze, obeying instructions without question or alarm, only half-aware of Mike as he did the same. A low-pitched chanting began and the throbbing rhythm of that single drum, which echoed her pulse and heartbeat. She drank something hot and slightly sour from a blue crystal bowl. She breathed in the fragrant sweetness of the air. The chimes resonated as Pesht'Ihai, a smouldering wand of desert sage and sweetgrass in one hand weaved a trail of vermillion smoke from Amanda's feet to the top of her head, concentrating on her navel and the area about her heart. Only then did Amanda realise that she and Mike were both quite naked – though she had no recollection of how or when she had misplaced her robe. Nor did the knowledge trouble her unduly or have the power to humiliate.

Pesht'Ihai's mysterious dance wove before and about Amanda, moved back from her, drew near once more.

The chanting rose in volume, the words slowly becoming clear, "A'tha, we give this One's katra into thy care. Protect the essence of the All she carries inside. Protect her mind and her will. Temper strength with wisdom. A'tha, we give this One's body into thy custody. Temper valour with consideration. A'tha, we give this One's spirit into thy protection. Let her always understand thy grace dwells within…"

And whether it was imagination or reality she appeared to answer with a familiar prayer, "A'tha, purge my mind of emotion and my heart of passion. Purge my mouth of all but sincerity and candour. Purge my ears, so that I may always hear thy precision. Purge my eyes so that I can see the true Path. A'tha, lead my soul on the Sacred Way…"

More herbs were scattered onto the coals and sparks blazed in a dazzle of incandescence. The chimes rang, high and thin and clear. Ochre smoke writhed and twisted within the chamber, a veil behind which the fire blazed. Time stood still, as transfixed, Amanda watched the vaporous curtain slowly dissipate.

A shape materialized amorphous, shadowy, which swiftly transformed into a contour she recognised. Abruptly her blood thundered and the air roared in her ears. The hair at her nape prickled.

Like the golden phoenix of Terran mythology, Sarek stepped from the smoke-haze. His long lean torso gleamed in the scattered light, clothed only in flame. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, he had the slender physique of an athlete. Watching him, wanting him, Amanda exalted at his male strength, his purity and unique beauty, bared entirely to her gaze - for any body hair that might have concealed his shape had been burned away - leaving his skin sleek and smooth. Her eager heart tensed in reaction at the sight.

She took a tentative step towards him, reached out a hand, fingers curling, needing to touch… but she could not reach him. His lips moved, forming her name, but his distinctive voice remained muted, scarcely audible above the pounding beat of the drum and the murmur of voices. Amanda strained to hear, knowing it was vitally important that she understand …

The chimes rang, the sound so penetrating that it was impossible to ignore. Amanda's attention shifted, a momentary distraction, but when she looked back toward him, Sarek was no longer there. Only heat haze and smoke wavered above the fire-pit.

The pounding beat of the drum wound down into silence, the chanting voices subsided. Pesht'Ihai bowed before them.

Amanda blinked. Shaken from the trance, she glanced about in confusion, but her search for Sarek's whereabouts proved in vain. He had disappeared as surely as the smoke from the herbs. She also seemed to have gained back her robe.

The reldai placed a garland of purple leaves bound with crimson and saffron twine about Amanda's neck. Still pungent but cool, the wreath was a delicious contrast to the overbearing heat of the chamber.

Into the sudden quiet the priestess declared, "Thee has passed through the cleansing fire, Amanda Carynese Grayson and Mikhail Gorsky, children of Earth. Pa'shu i'ki tama vai is now complete. Thee may proceed about thy business."

o0o


	17. Sar-e-Kahr.

The bell that rings inside your mind

Is challenging the doors of time

It's a kind of magic

o0o

They arrived at the shuttle transportation bay only seconds before Sarek. A personal flyer, sleek-lined and ultra modern waited for them there. After ushering the two Humans into the back, Sarek climbed into the pilot's seat.

Amanda focused on him as he began the pre-flight routine, her mind in disarray. She breathed in, counted to ten, breathed out and searched for calm. It seemed strange but never once had she considered that her Vulcan might be married. Even now, the reality appeared improbable. It just could not be. The Cosmos had gone all awry. Yet the memory, Sarek's memory, was as clear as the blue crystal dining-ware he used. When just seven years old, he had climbed the thousand steps to Seleya's Mount, he had taken the delicately pretty T'Reah as his mate. The intimacy of the mind touch Amanda had shared with him meant nothing in the face of that.

She thought back over the alien ceremony of Pa'shu i'ki tama vai, the purification of mind, body and spirit. Were the visions she had witnessed just the product of a psychedelic hallucination induced by the alien incense; or maybe directly, or indirectly, Sarek had something to do with them. He could have planted the images in her subconscious during the mind touch. But if so, for what purpose? Nothing made any sense. Frustrated by her lack of understanding, Amanda determined that she must speak to Sarek. He was the one with all the answers.

If there were more to her inclusion into the Cultural Institute's team than appeared on the surface, surely he would not object to letting her in on it. She would bide her time for the present, concentrate on playing her professional role and try to forget the emotions that Sarek's mind-touch had evoked. She was an observer on Vulcan, not a pawn in some game she did not comprehend. For the reminder of her time there she must stay aloof. Amanda knew it for the right decision, knew that for her own peace of mind as well as the interests of Earth, whatever the temptation, she must stick to it.

Sarek landed the flyer within a small cluster of unobtrusive buildings, built of ochre-coloured stone that blended into the natural landscape. The debilitating heat struck Amanda the instant she stepped out of the flyer's access door blistering up from the ground through her boot soles. She gasped as the powerful sunlight burned into the exposed skin on her face and hands. Perspiration stung her eyes while each breathy exhalation parched her abruptly dry throat of moisture.

Mike draped a voluminous hooded cloak about her shoulders before shrugging into his own, "They're made of a specially treated thermolytic material and will help cut down the loss of body fluids – as well as keeping the sun out of your eyes. Vulcan is on the fringe of hospitable 'M' class planets for Humans. Less oxygen, higher gravity, and temperatures that can climb way higher than any thing we know on Earth. We'll get you fitted with contact lenses to protect your sight and daily Tri-ox injections will combat the extra weight and heat. It's a drag – literally - but you'll get used to it."

Amanda nodded, "Now I know what they mean when they say 'hot as Vulcan'. They got that right in the holo-vids at least!"

Protected now against the fierce light, the capacious hood pulled a good way over her forehead and eyes; she peered out at the landscape. She was surprised to find that Sarek had apparently landed the flyer on a large plateau halfway up a mountain. Rich vermillion stone rose painfully up into an equally cinnabar sky. The Earth saying immediately came to mind; red sky in the morning, shepherds' warning, red sky at night, shepherds' delight. Since the sky of Vulcan was red all the time, she wondered with a little rush of adrenaline, which would now apply to her.

She looked to Mike for an explanation. "Where are we?"

Despite the thinness of the air, her question carried to Sarek's keen ears. He raised a hand and pointed down beyond the plateau into the vastness of an open valley far below. Clearly visible, though some distance away, Amanda saw the geometric regular lines of buildings surrounded by a ring of what looked like parklands. There was no green anywhere. Silvery blue vegetation, hazy like wood smoke, clung to the red, rocky soil. The deeper indigo hue of larger plants created a barrier against the sparseness of the adjacent desert.

"It is ShiKahr."

"You live there?"

"A house is retained for my use. However, for a time we shall remain in Retreat until you are sufficiently… acclimatized."

Amanda did not miss his slight hesitation, or the reason behind it. Without rancour, she had read his use of 'acclimatized' for 'sufficiently educated in the Vulcan Way'. "Does it mean the same as in Standard, a refuge of some kind?"

Both she and Mike tracked Sarek's gaze as he looked up at the sheer mountain wall. "Almost the same. Sar-e-Kahr is locatedabove. We must transport to the other side of the ridge."

Mike's eyes came out on stalks. This was big news. "You have a working transporter, sir?"

"The technology has been known to us for … some years." Did a smile ghost briefly at the corner of Sarek's lips? His tone was the driest Amanda had ever heard it, "If you will follow me."

He led them through an archway, shaped by the elements from the living rock, into a wide, columnar rotunda. A three-stepped dais made from rosy marble blocks and of classical design decorated the centre of the open space. "Your application for the research position stated that vertigo was not a weakness, Miss Grayson. If that assumption was inaccurate, you may find your time here … uncomfortable."

Mystified, Amanda climbed the steps to stand beside Sarek in the middle of the platform. Mike took a position next to her, obviously just as much in the dark. The next moment a faint hum vibrated on the air. The pulsations grew in volume, the gentle purr of a sonic shower on low, escalating to a throb that echoed Amanda's pulse. An instant later, an iridescent sparkle shimmered out of nowhere, caught them up in its glow and whisked them off into the ether.

Walled with huge blocks of dressed marble, a spacious room solidified out of the air. Enclosed on three sides, the fourth opened via a triangular arch onto a wide, flagged terrace and an expanse of sky. Made breathless by the sudden transition but strangely revitalized, Amanda followed Sarek as he stepped off the transporter podium.

Pinkish floor tiles 'gave' slightly under her feet much the same as they had in the space station. The dazzling radiance that streamed in from outside, the buoyancy underfoot – despite the heavier gravity - and the rarefied air induced in Amanda an almost dreamlike state. She puzzled over the sensation. Something told her they were high up, even higher than where Sarek had landed the flyer. Yet oxygen deprivation could not fully explain her sense of euphoric tranquillity, of knowing she was where she was supposed to be. With every breath and every fleeting look, her exaltation grew.

Drawn to the light, Amanda hardly glanced at the beautifully frescoed walls of the reception chamber, though she took distracted note of the unexpected coolness, so much more pleasant than out in the open. Wind chimes tinkled in a fitful breeze. That sound, merged with the soft splash of an ornamental fountain, compounded the sensation part mystical, part visual of having reached at last some place that was a conclusion, an end to a journey begun long ago.

Mike followed her out onto the shaded terrace where they stood together leaning up against a waist high fret-worked stone parapet. Beneath them, the mountain wall dropped almost straight down into a gorge thousands of feet deep, perhaps the result of some great cataclysm in Vulcans ancient past. The floor of the valley below made tiny by distance greeted the eye with similar plum coloured vegetation as the parklands around ShiKahr.

Amanda, searching for a path that led downwards, only then realised the precarious nature of Sar-e-Kahr, how it clung to the side of the mountain, the many stone towers, cupolas and square pavilions exploiting each and every ledge, outcropping or rocky extension that the environment - or possibly some ingenious Vulcan engineer - had devised. Yet, she experienced not apprehension at the height and insecurity but a sense of absolute rapture much like a creature of the sky as it spread its wings and poised for flight.

She laughed aloud, "This is tremendous!"

And one look at Sarek told her immediately that this time there was no doubt that she had passed the test.

Mike had not fared so well. When Amanda turned to grin at him in joyful fellow feeling, she noticed immediately the look of strain on his abruptly pale features. Although he leaned over the parapet, he held his body way too tense and his fingers gripped the stonework so tight his knuckles had turned waxen. Amanda laid a gentle hand on his arm, drew him stumbling back into the shade of the portico.

"The air is especially thin at this altitude." Sarek interceded. "We will retire for a time and take some tsa'e."

He led them through the reception hall and out another triangular doorway that automatically whooshed open at their approach and closed seamlessly behind them.

Amanda, solicitously linked arms with Mike but once enclosed by solid walls, with firm ground underfoot, he quickly recovered his aplomb. Hurrying in the wake of Sarek's long legged stride as they proceeded down an anonymous corridor of the rosy hued stone, Mike murmured softly, "I think I made a fool of myself back there. A show of male machismo at its finest. "

"Not one bit." Amanda squeezed his arm in reassurance, "You've not been here before?"

"I didn't even know this place existed. That drop into infinity didn't bother you at all did it?"

She shrugged, "I found it … exhilarating. Just think of the buzz you'd get hang-gliding over that edge!"

Mike turned pale again, "I'd rather not! Though with a working transporter you'd have no problem getting back. What a discovery, Amanda. All this time we've known the Vulcans and they never once let on. I wonder what else they're keeping under their hats."

"Maybe they want us to find out these things for ourselves. Would you give a loaded gun to a child?"

He shook his head, grinned, almost his old self again, "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose, though I'm beginning to suspect that Sarek and maybe all Vulcans are big on smoke and mirrors."

The mention of smoke, if not mirrors, brought the odd events on the space station back to Amanda. It seemed a good time to find out if Mike had experienced the same things she had, "Mike, about the purification ceremony…"

Some steps ahead, Sarek turned on a booted heel so fast that his long over-robe swirled about his ankles in an eddy of unstated opulence. "Miss Grayson, I would not wish to denigrate Gorsky's knowledge on the subject but if you have questions to ask you may find I am a more reliable source regarding Vulcan ceremonies and traditions."

Amanda blinked, startled. Nothing much got by those Vulcan ears it appeared – and possibly Vulcan eyes did not miss a great deal either. He was giving her the ideal opportunity to discover what was going on. "That would be most kind, sir."

"I have an hour free after the evening meal if that is acceptable?"

It might be more politic to wait until then, "Indeed, thank you."

However, Amanda needed to find out something right then. Since landing, they had seen no other Vulcans. From what she had already observed from outside, and if the length of the corridor was anything to go by, Sar-e-Kahr was enormous. She couched the question in the appropriate polite form, lesser to higher rank, "Kula' at Sarek, surely you don't live here all alone?"

"Indeed, I do not, Miss Grayson – as you may soon ascertain for yourself. Sar-e-Kahr is the domicile for one hundred fifty-three personnel and their immediate families." Sarek extended a hand, "There are also a number of guests both permanent and interim."

As if by some conjuror's trick, a further, large, triangular door, invisible to them before, suddenly opened up in the otherwise featureless corridor. Mike exchanged a surreptitious glance with Amanda as if to say; see what I mean about smoke and mirrors.

o0o


	18. Acclimatization

Acclimatization

Revealed within was a concourse wholly different from the bland and empty walkway that had brought them there.

The two-tiered circular plaza stretched wide and soared loftily above, the roof arched with vaulted stone apparently carved from living rock. A gentle radiance, kind to even the Human eye, shone from some hidden source. Around the walls, alcoves separated by square pilasters held crystal sculptures and marble statuettes interspersed with low seating. Several large archways led deeper into the retreat. The upper level surrounded by a stone balcony mirrored the first floor. Vulcans of both sexes came and went, alone and in groups of twos and threes, passing through on their way to other destinations. A cluster of schoolchildren, dressed alike, and accompanied by two adult women stirred up fond memories from Amanda's past.

Apart from an Andorian child, blue skinned and white haired, who sat on one of the alcove benches nearby, legs swinging idly and antennae quivering with curiosity, they received no special attention.

They followed Sarek as he led them through a nearby arch and into a hallway of polished stone. From there they descended a wide stair, traversed several open courtyards and a further colonnade that again overlooked the valley far below. On various vacations with her father, Amanda had walked the old cities of Earth, had seen roadways that had felt the beat of Roman legions, yet Sar-e-Kahr was far, far older. So old that to Amanda the retreat gave the impression that it had formed along with the mountain at its back. Proportion and purpose, geometric precision and strict logic seemed to dictate the curves and sweep of the structure she had seen so far. It came as a complete and very pleasant surprise when at the end of the colonnade they descended another stair and entered a scene of quite unexpected perfection.

A garden, lushly verdant, enclosed a round pool where water from a fountain continually splashed. Thickly planted, Amanda recognised many of the shrubs and other flora as Earth natives, though there was a sprinkling of Andorian blue puzzle-leaf and a great blaze of Atlantean fire-rod.

"How wonderful," Amanda murmured, "but how did it get here?"

"The garden pleases you?"

"Yes, of course."

"The vegetation was chosen to aid in your acclimatization to Ti-Valka'ain. I believe you enjoy gardening as an activity. Tending it will be your responsibility." Sarek pushed through a riot of foliage to reveal a hidden pavilion surrounded on three sides by sheltered arcades.

A low table already set with crystal bowls, tsa'e pot, and krayla awaited their arrival – along with two young Human women who jumped up from their floor cushions at Sarek's approach. Mike, trailing Sarek with Amanda by his side, brightened immediately.

"You know who they are?"

Mike grinned, "They're from the Enclave, Tara Kaladin and Romani Ghoshal."

If it was another of Sarek's 'adjustment' tactics Amanda wondered who he thought needed them most.

Though she recognized Sarek's considerate action, his insight of Human needs, the truth was she had never felt so much at home. Even the altitude and thin air had started to trouble her less since she had discovered a new way of breathing.

The mind meld with Sarek must have conferred that ability, too. It needed concentration and a little more effort, which, though distracting at first, after a time brought on an almost euphoric serenity. For the first time, her entire body worked in true harmony, mind and limb in disciplined accord. Breathing became meditation. The sensation relaxed and exhilarated her at the same time. For what seemed her whole life she had waited for the chance to visit Vulcan, to find her Elvish Prince again. Now both those dreams had come unexpectedly true. However the adventure might end, Amanda wholeheartedly opened her soul to the experience.

She held back as Mike embraced the two girls. All three seemed to know and like each other well.

Sarek gave her a considering look, "I will leave you in the company of your associates, Miss Grayson. There are rooms allocated for your use adjacent to the court. You will find your possessions there. I will speak with you again after the evening meal."

He walked away as Mike turned and welcomed her into the midst of the magic circle. Before she knew it, the four of them were chattering away like old friends.

They ate together surrounded by the plants of Earth, a reminder of home. Yet Amanda did not wish to forget that she was on Vulcan. Sar-e-Kahr had become a part of her, breath and bone. The ancient stone spoke to some secret place within her heart, its history echoed down to her through the ages. There remained a sensation, not unlike déjà vu, that although she had never in her experience encountered the retreat before she seemed to know it intimately. It offered sanctuary in a restless universe. Maybe another result of the mind meld she had shared with Sarek.

Her assigned apartments had been all she could have wished, spacious and airy, separated from the garden by only a light, wooden fret-worked screen. There was a study area with a personal concom unit and computer, while a sleeping dais occupied a different level. A food selector, placed in the wall near a low table and several floor stools, seemed programmed with a variety of cooked fare from not only Earth and Vulcan origins, but many other worlds too. The food appeared instantly and on demand. There was even a private sonic shower and toilet facility.

Best of all, she had found a closet with two more outfits, both stunning. Before dinner T'Naoui, a young Vulcan girl, came to help her dress. Amanda wondered if that would continue during her whole stay on Vulcan. Certainly, she needed some assistance with the unfamiliar garments. Though unadorned for the most part, they were again of the finest material and fitted like a dream. T'Naoui handed her a short chemise in saffron silk with matching harem pants first. A neck-to-toe under-gown of the same coloured silk with narrow ruche sleeves followed. The next garment - T'Naoui called it a khelat - resembled a Moroccan takchita. Of a deep yellow shade, generously cut, the gown had knee-high side slits that revealed the pants beneath. T'Naoui smoothed the delicate fabric over Amanda's hips and adjusted the fall of the beautiful wide sleeves before helping her on with a deep russet full-length surcoat, stiff with self-coloured embroidery. Similarly slit up the side seams like the khelat, a wide, stiffened belt around the midriff held it closed at the waist. Again, thought had gone into the accessories; golden sandals for her feet and a gold and russet tasselled ch'ipau for her upswept hair.

When she returned to the pavilion, they all oh-and-aahed appreciatively over each other's appearance, for all four of them had received the Vulcan transformation.

They concocted a meal using the menu from the food selectors in their rooms. Amanda found that she enjoyed Vulcan cooking, with its spicy aromas and tangy flavours. Her first meal at Sar-e-Kahr only added to the welcome familiarity that she had begun to expect. She suspected also that Sarek's acclimatization programme included a few additives, some herb or medication in the food that helped them cope with the high altitude and thin air. Amanda not only felt the soothing comfort of mind and body, she also noticed it in Mike and the girls.

Dusk fell with the abruptness of a tropical night and with it a welcome coolness from the heat of the day. T'Naoui and Saran, a Vulcan boy who had attended Mike, emerged to light huge bowl-shaped copper braziers. Grateful now for the layered Vulcan clothing, the four of them sat on in the warmth and flickering illumination long after the food had disappeared

When Sarek's summons came however, Amanda rose eagerly to her feet, pulses jumping in anticipation. Her impatience grew as she accompanied T'Naoui through half glimpsed rooms lamp-lit and lovely to another part of the retreat. Long before they ascended a spiral stair and T'Naoui paused before an unmarked door, the uncanny feeling washed over Amanda again of having been there before, of knowing exactly what lay beyond the next shadowed court or curve in the hallway.

A strange inner excitement surged through her as T'Naoui operated the door release. "Kula'at Sarek will receive thee alone, T'sai Ha-lei-ha."


	19. Ska-plak

The door opened. Amanda stepped over the threshold still puzzling over the title T'Naoui had given her. The door closed so quietly behind her that she hardly realised that she was again alone. For a moment, she stood in hesitant contemplation searching the room for an occupant. It was transparently empty. There was no sign of Sarek. Amanda had already learned that he did nothing without a purpose. This was either a lesson or test of some sort. All she had to do was figure it out - no pressure then!

She moved further into the room. Modelled on the same lines as her quarters, the floor was stepped into several levels and plateaus, the large space separated into smaller areas designated for sleeping, working and eating. In a far corner, a further raised platform housed a statue of a winged feline creature similar to the one in Sarek's cabin aboard the Insala. Light pulsed from a votive bowl held in the animal's paws, a luminescent blue - Sarek's meditation area.

There were no wall hangings or works of art on the walls. Instead, painted directly onto the pink stone surface, a colourful fresco shimmered in the shifting light of two copper braziers. Amanda moved closer to study it. A stylized panorama, it was nevertheless exquisitely executed. More than one scene depicted huge, bear-like animals in woodland settings. Another was of a desert vista, daubed in vermillion and orange where courtly, robed figures took part in some sort of ceremony. Yet another panel portrayed a fortress-city much like Sar-e-Kahr perched among mountain crags. Amanda leaned further in - a much younger mountain from the look of the highlighted rock, which appeared free of erosion, Sar-e-Kahr in an earlier age perhaps. It was a guess but it seemed true to the implanted memories she held. Her eye roved fascinated by the images. The portrait of a woman claimed her attention. She was Ti-Valka'ain, her face overlaid with a tracery of fine cracks, a testament to the age of the if to balance the piece, the woman looked toward the profile of a man whose ruggedly handsome face appeared vaguely familiar.

On impulse, Amanda touched her fingers to the surface of the portrait, taking pleasure in the texture of the stone, quietly appreciative of the special magnificence that came from antiquity. As she did so, a sensation washed over her, that feeling of suspension, of things about to happen. The Universe held its breath.

Eagerly, she turned to look back at the room. A blue crystal sculpture stood on a low table nearby. Without a second thought, Amanda crossed over to it and hunkered down, examining it with her eyes. No larger than her palm, it resembled a box within a box; a hexagonal-shaped central structure suspended within an open cage of delicate rods interspersed with tiny beads of the same blue crystal. It reminded Amanda of some alien interpretation of a Chinese puzzle box.

She narrowed her eyes, the better to see, and peered closer. The heart of the gemstone glimmered with blue-white foxfire illuminating strange runic script carved into the outer surface.

Amanda cocked her head. The faint strains of music came tinkling from the sculpture like the last, drawn-out, chimes of a clockwork musical toy. No, she had that wrong. It was a voice, someone speaking….what were they saying? If only she could hear clearly…

"You find the ska-plak of interest, Miss Grayson?"

Startled from her trance, Amanda jumped to her feet and spun about, "Kula'at Sarek…"

How had he come to be there? Even ensorcelled by the sculpture, she would have noticed if he had entered by the main door. She glanced toward the rear of the apartment where stars glowed in the aperture that led to a private terrace. Had he been observing her from there all along, or was his appearance more Vulcan gramarye. "It's very beautiful, sir."

"Indeed it is, and also ancient, even by Ti-Valka'ain standards. You know of its use."

Amanda tilted her head, looked inside herself, searching the inner knowledge she possessed. "It's a memory device of some kind…"

"A recorder of memories to be precise. The Lady who once owned Sar-e-Kahr commanded this particular ska-plak carved from a single jasif crystal. It holds her knowledge and experiences, all coloured by her individual thoughts and … emotions. The answers to all your questions lie there - if you are able to retrieve them."

"I thought… Vulcans didn't have emotions."

"That is a popular conviction, one we do not contest, though it is patently fictitious." While Amanda goggled speechless at him, Sarek picked up the ska-plak and held it out. "Will you undertake the challenge, Miss Grayson?"

Amanda loved puzzles. It was partly what made her such an accomplished linguist. She always attacked such conundrums with tenacity and persistence. She guessed this puzzle also had a massive reward attached – or a massive penalty.

"What if I'm unable to access the memories?"

Sarek's eyes reflected the flickering light from the twin braziers as he met her gaze, "It is early to talk of failure, Miss Grayson. I believe you have all the requisite skills to aid you in the quest. If you prove diligent enough, you will be victorious."

Impaled by his unrelenting gaze, Amanda's heart jumped. A thrill of anticipation touched her spine. Without a word, she held out her hand. Sarek inclined his head, the ghostly half-smile hovering about his lips as he placed the ska-plak upon her palm.

o0o


	20. Whizz-bang, flip-flop, Heaven-for-a-Minute

T'Naoui waited with patient grace outside Sarek's door. Amanda followed the Vulcan girl docilely back the way they had come, the glory of the ska-plak hidden within a concealing copper metal casket. Though it did not seem possible, while she had been absorbed in the jasif crystal's enchantment, the night hours had entirely passed. Rosy light brightened the horizon by the time they reached Amanda's apartment - where T'Naoui bid her farewell.

Exhausted by the constant excitement over the last few days, Amanda's overwhelming desire was to seek out her bed and stay there for the following week. Despite her mounting fatigue, she still found the energy to try to release the crystal sculpture from its hiding place.

Much like Amanda, Sarek also had good reason to believe in the demonstration of magic. On his world, however, such occurrences went under the category not of the paranormal or supernatural but of psionic phenomena. The possession and development of such skills, though undisclosed to their Federation allies, had been ongoing on Ti-Valka'ain since the dawn of time. For thousands of years certain technologies had arisen to amplify and extend those psychic gifts. The creation of such devices had never been simple or easy. All were hand made by psionic adepts. Those most highly regarded were relics treasured by individual owners and handed down through generations of the same Family. The ska-plak now in Amanda's possession was just such an artefact. That much Sarek had revealed. The rest she must discover on her own if she could. It was the brainteaser of all brainteasers.

With the casket cupped in her palms, Amanda settled cross-legged on the floor behind her computer console. After a brief hesitation, she closed her eyes and concentrated hard, building up an image in her mind. She pictured the way the casket looked, the way the copper glowed, felt its weight and the smoothness of the metal surface beneath her fingers…

She peeked out through half-open eyes. The casket remained closed. Darn! That was not the way, obviously. So, what was the trick? Amanda heard once more the sophisticated tones of Sarek's voice. She recalled his words exactly; I believe you have all the requisite skills to aid you in the quest. If you prove diligent enough, you will be victorious…

It had seemed so simple when Sarek had shown her. All he had done was look intently at the casket for a moment. Perhaps opening the box had less to do with concentration and more to do with a quietness of spirit. Amanda closed her eyes again. She relaxed her shoulders, and exhaled. The air in her lungs released in a long, gentle sigh. She became conscious of a warm, peaceful silence. It washed over her and soaked into her mind. She breathed in.

With the air came the scent of the plants out in the courtyard, a fertile smell, loamy and rich, a poignant reminder of Earth. She put it aside. Again, she conjured up an image of the casket, visualized the way the lid irised open like the shutter on an old-fashioned camera…

Wind chimes tinkled, a faint crystal ringing, and the room filled with a scintillating, cerulean sparkle. The ska-plak called softly to her. It whispered a name.

For a moment Amanda held back - resisted the summons – before she lifted the globe from its captivity. The heat of the sculptured gem warmed her palms as she held it close. The potency of it throbbed along with her heart. Energy crackled like summer lightning. It filled the air with the scent of cinnamon and sand…the scent of home.


	21. Captivated By the Light

Amanda woke later with only a vague memory of undressing, showering, and falling exhausted into bed. Across the room, the ska-plak glimmered with a soft blue glow. She had left it beside her computer console where a yellow light also now winked. Someone had sent her a com message. Barefoot, Amanda padded across to the unit and switched it on.

The screen cleared and Mike appeared. His eyebrow lifted suggestively, "Tsk, tsk, Amanda, you missed breakfast. Sarek must have had a lot to say last night about all those Vulcan Traditions. He left instructions that we should let you sleep in this morning. Now the sun is well and truly over the horizon so I'm giving you a wake up call. There's talk of a sight-seeing trip of Sar-e-Kahr. If you can be ready in an hour, we're all invited…"

Amanda switched off with a sheepish grin at Mike's risqué innuendo over the missed breakfast and lost hours she had spent in Sarek's quarters. His masculine pride sounded bruised. She would need to heal that breach. Mike was a friend she would hate to lose. Though she felt a profound desire to stay in her quarters and research the ska-plak, the tour of Sar-e-Kahr sounded too good to miss. She needed to see the retreat through her own eyes. A comparison between Sarek's memories and those she gleaned at first sight could prove invaluable, especially in unravelling the mysteries that surrounded the ska-plak. She ordered up a plate of krayla and a pot of tsa'e and went to inspect her wardrobe. Maybe, while she slept, another outfit would have mysteriously appeared.

Alas, there were no new additions but the other of the two outfits that had materialized the day before - an emerald khelat and mid-length chocolate tajik, with its beautiful flowing sleeves and decorative edges made from ribbon flowers - was certainly extraordinarily beautiful. Sarek had without doubt taken the dictum to heart of clothes maketh the man. As his protégé, Amanda realized she dressed to impress. All her new garments had the unmistakeable stamp of haute couture. She stroked the soft, almost velvety pile of the surcoat and nuzzled it with her cheek, luxuriating in the richness of the cloth. There were symbols embroidered precisely on the front panel. The script resembled that carved into the ska-plak crystal. Amanda traced one of the runic characters with an adroit fingertip. Somewhere in the room wind chimes tinkled.

Something touched her thoughts much as Reldai Pesht'Ihai had on Space Central, yet unlike the cool indifference of the priestess, this contact was cautious and unassuming, almost shy. Amanda shut her eyes. The action provoked an image that shaped itself within her mind.

A room within the retreat solidified about her, sparsely furnished and sunlit. A young girl, dressed only in pantalon, chemise and under-gown knelt beside a wide sleeping dais. Before her, arranged in regal splendour, an outfit lay, similar to Amanda's own though many times more impressive.

The girl inclined her head, "Be welcome, T'sai Ha'lei'ha. This day I ascend the Thousand Steps to Seleya's Mount and bond with he who will be my future mate. These are my betrothal robes. Will thee help me dress?"

"Who are you?" For a startled moment, Amanda thought the girl might be T'Reah but this was not a manifestation of one of Sarek's memories. The touch of the fabric, or perhaps the tracing of the rune, had promoted a recollection from a much earlier time.

"I believe thee already know the answer to that, Lady."

"This isn't a dream?" In the same way T'Naoui had tended to Amanda, she now assisted the girl. With careful fingers, Amanda selected the delicate, tissue-thin khelat and held it out so the girl could slip her arms into the elegant sleeves.

"Thee see the past through my eyes."

Amanda reached for the translucent tajik. The surcoat, fashioned from gauzy silk, was so light it almost floated on the air. "The ska-plak crystal has done something to me."

"It chose thee for a purpose." Illumined by the rosy sunlight, and dressed in her wedding finery, the girl looked ethereal, her youthful beauty exquisite but fragile. The mystery in her eyes beckoned Amanda irresistibly.

"Why?"

"If thee open thy mind and heart that intention will become clear."

The room dissolved and Amanda's apartment formed about her once more. Disorientated by the sudden shift in perception she sat on the dais until her balance returned. The girl had been familiar. There was a marked resemblance between her and the wall painting of the Ti-Valka'ain woman in Sarek's quarters. The Lady who owned both Sar-e-Kahr and whose memories were encapsulated within the ska-plak. Amanda had received a piece of the puzzle but still had no idea where it fit into the mystery, or how it answered any of the questions she wanted to ask Sarek.

She had interacted with a ghost of someone long dead who she was supposed to know. How could that be? Only one chance meeting with a certain Elvish Prince had sparked her interest in Vulcan as a child, not some preordained destiny. The need to mull over what she had learned and to study the ska-plak pulled at Amanda even more than before but there was no time to indulge the desire. She would have to do her thinking on her feet. Without further ado, fingers flying, she quickly, but carefully, dressed in her Vulcan finery. With newfound skill, Amanda swept up her hair, positioned the ch'ipau and slipped on a pair of matching sandals. Once dressed, with only moments to spare, she crossed to the computer. After she returned the ska-plak to its storage place, she addressed the com, "Reference all information regarding the owner of Sar-e-Kahr, particularly in connection with the creation of a jasif crystal memory device…"

She picked up her skirts and skipped to the door. It opened immediately to reveal Sarek, Mike, and the two girls waiting for her to appear. Amanda twirled on the threshold as a sudden afterthought struck her, "Lock data until my return, computer. Available for my attention only."

o0o

Ha'lei'ha courtesy of Fardreaming.


	22. Shadow Dancing

It seemed Amanda had been right about Mike's injured, masculine pride. Neither he or Tara offered much beyond an offhand greeting, though Romani, the other Enclave girl did manage a whispered compliment on the Vulcan clothing Amanda wore. Sotto voce, Amanda returned the favour for once again both girls and Mike looked equally resplendent in their own finery.

If Sarek noticed the coolness between his Human entourage, he did not refer to it. Instead, with brisk efficiency he commenced the grand tour of Sar-e-Kahr by leading them to an internal elevator. Constructed of some kind of ceramic, the circular booth's smooth walls appeared free of instrumentation. Once inside, the doors closed and Sarek voiced a Vulcan phrase. The lift, with dutiful mechanical obedience, glided downward. They decanted into a corridor that looked hand carved, the polished stone surfaces exquisitely decorated on both sides with a life size tableau, interspersed with Vulcan symbols.

Painted in brilliantly coloured tinted inks, Amanda was not the only one who lingered over the dazzling depiction of Sar-e-Kahrs long history. Shoulder to shoulder with Mike, they exchanged a look of ardent enchantment.

"Are those militia…?" Mike's pointing finger indicated a scene, clearly illustrated, where a number of male Vulcans engaged in combat. Dressed in archaic-seeming breast shields and protective helmets, they brandished vicious weapons composed of a heavy metal shaft with a circular, razor-edged blade at one end and a metal cudgel at the other. A name popped into Amanda's mind, lirpa… and with the word, a mental picture appeared of a dust-strewn desert plain. Two lines of armoured men faced each other ready to engage in battle…

A spark of tolerant approval flared across Amanda's mind as the phaser beam intensity of four pairs of Terran eyes settled on Sarek's enigmatic face. "They are, indeed, warriors, Gorsky. Though much of the history of this period has been lost over time, our scholars teach that long ago early Vulkhanir nomads banded together in extended family groups for protection."

His gaze settled on Amanda, the resonance of his thoughts not quite matching the tenor of his words. "They fought over water rights and patches of fertile cropland, priceless commodities on the Sas-a-Shar and elsewhere. The victors of such skirmishes established permanent settlements at sites rich in food, water and shelter. Sar-e-Kahr is one such location. It has been part of my family's lands for generations."

Tara voiced a question they had asked themselves over dinner the night before, "I noticed the similarity in pronunciation between your name and that of the retreat. Then, there is a connection?"

"That is so, Miss Kaladin. The first known Sarekh led the foray party now venerated on these walls."

He talked of the past with an unpretentious ease, honest but ambiguous. He spoke the truth although Amanda, through her connection with him, recognized it was not the whole truth. Curiously, the ambiguity did not alarm her. In fact, she continued to experience a quiet serenity. Any reservations she felt were lost in an uncanny acceptance of Sarek and his world.

For some moments, she had been aware of the soft jingle of tinkling bells. As Sarek led his little troupe further down the hallway, the high silvery notes of a flute joined the faint chiming. A drum started up, a muted throbbing beat in counterpoint to the flute's melody. The music's tonality, without any apparent key, appeared distorted to Amanda's ears as if certain crucial notes were missing. The resultant dissonance was mildly disturbing...the same way metal on metal or the eerie caterwauling of a cat was disturbing.

An archway appeared. They entered a large room, which opened as usual onto a shaded terrace at one end. A dance class was in progress. The students, a group of children of varying species, none above the age of six or so, copied the movements of their Vulcan teacher as she led them through the desired steps. The music silenced at Sarek's entrance. The musicians, two young boys and a girl, sitting seiza on the tiled floor, instantly put aside their instruments and rose to their feet. Pupils and teacher turned to face him, shoulders back, heads up, and hands behind their backs.

They greeted him in unison, "Mehe nakkhet ur-sevah, Kula'at Sarekh."

"Peace and long life, children. T'Parul, if you will continue the lesson for our Terran guests."

It was a scene straight out of one of the holo-vids, Amanda had cherished so much as a child, a view of Vulcan culture imagined but never corroborated. T'Parul was tall, lissom, graceful … but what held Amanda's attention the most were the little cluster of infants. Bare footed, they all wore identical clothes, even the few, assorted Andorian, Rigellian and Tellarite tots, ochre trousers that fell just below the knee with tunic tops the colour of Vulcan's desert sands.

The music started up at T'Parul's nod. She plunged straight into a routine with the infants lined up behind her. They followed her exaggerated movements. Eyes darted, fingers parted, tiny feet arched and curled. The children bent and twirled, stamped their feet. Confident, precise movements highlighted the crystalline ringing of the bells. There was a perfect synchronization between the dancers' performance and the musicians on flute and drum. The actions were complex and demanded abundant control but even at such a young age, the infants appeared highly trained.

"Our children are taken to performances long before they can walk, and receive lessons soon after." Sarek continued with quiet emphasis, "Balance and control are essential. Dance necessitates mastery of every limb, muscle and emotion..."

That word again! Amanda studied Sarek's face. For a second time that morning, he had their undivided attention. His lips curved upward briefly at the corners, "The artist must learn to sublimate personality. Only then can they become one with a'Tha."

Amanda translated for Mike and the girls, though the meaning of the term eluded her just as much, "The All?"

"The words significance has no direct translation into Tehr'n. One experiences a'Tha differently every second. It is the direct experience of the power or energy responsible for the creation and continuance of the universe."

Amanda blinked and exchanged a wide-eyed look of utter amazement with Mike. He murmured, "You're talking about the divine spirit, sir. You're talking about…God!"

"Perhaps, but this familiarity is not unique to Ti-Valka'ain, Gorsky. Have not all here felt that electrifying presence, the kind that mesmerizes audiences and transports performer and viewer to another time and place? Being one with a'Tha can transform an average dancer into a prima ballerina or a singer into a chanteuse."

Amanda watched the display of eye, shoulder, hand, head, hip, and foot movements, dazzled by the infants performance, "I suspect a'Tha also requires something in return. It doesn't appear just a one way process."

"Indeed, Miss Grayson. To sense a'Tha's presence, one must be dedicated. It requires practice." He inclined his head to T'Parul in stately grace and led them to the adjoining studio.

o0o


	23. As It Was From the Beginning

Once through the door they discovered another beautifully proportioned stone-lined room, with trompe l'oeil arches, and colonnades that appeared to look out onto desert vistas. Upon a circular three-stepped dais, a further collection of children gathered. Older than the first group, they appeared to age from early to late teens and were separated into three mixed ensembles. Again, they were mostly Vulcan with a sprinkling of other species. As in the previous class, the students and teacher, a male this time, greeted Sarek before he bade them return to their lesson. It was a singing class. As they watched, two girls from each ensemble stepped forward. From the left hand group a low hum gently increased in volume. While the vibration continued, the right hand group added a supplementary theme augmented by one or more overtones. The third group introduced a percussion beat, slightly out of synchronization. Accompanied only by the rise and fall of the manipulated sound, the six girls commenced to flute a subtle vocalized refrain, which spiralled up impossibly high.

The timbre rattled Amanda's teeth, resonated behind her eyes. Her head buzzed as her Terran educated ear tried in vain to identify each nuance and subtle variation, unable to translate what she heard without reference points. It was the equivalent of attempting to separate and view the individual facets of a diamond all at once. She glanced over at Mike, who stood with head bowed and eyes shut, almost as unreadable as Sarek. In obvious discomfort, Tara rubbed at a crease in her forehead, while Romani frowned and shrugged. The girl silently mouthed, "Intense, but…where's the wow?"

It was Sarek's turn to be quizzical although the only sign of his curiosity was an elevated eyebrow. His distinctive 'voice' echoed unexpectedly within Amanda's mind.

#What is 'wow'? Explain.#

Caught off guard, her thoughts chaotic, she met his gaze. #I didn't know you could speak with me this way.#

#It is not speech, although your psyche accepts the process as such.#

#The others, can they hear us, too?#

#That… is doubtful.#

#We aren't in physical contact. How…?#

#It is helpful to touch but not always necessary. Over short distances and, more importantly, where a rapport is already in existence, communication is still possible. But something is amiss. You are in discomfort. This has something to do with… the lack of 'wow' Miss Ghoshal mentioned.#

Through her headache, Amanda recognised his concern and confusion; #Romani meant that special ingredient that sets something apart from the mundane…What you described as being One with the All, that's our 'X-factor', the 'wow'.#

#Indeed?#

Amanda had to concentrate to make her thought clear. #Our ears aren't attuned to this kind of harmonic gymnastics. It's difficult for us to separate so many variants. We hear the sounds as incompatible with each other, jarring.#

#If that is the case, I believe I have the solution.# He closed the gap between them. Their thighs brushed as he stood close beside Amanda. #If you will permit me…#

With splayed fingers, he placed a hand in the small of her back. At his touch, heat flared through Amanda's skin. Sweet fire burned up her spine and along her nerve-endings. Pleasure pulsated inward. She gasped in startled reaction.

#Close your eyes. Listen through me.#

After a moment of confused thought, Amanda complied with his command. Darkness lurked behind her closed lids; tumultuous sound reverberated through her shocked ears.

#They sing of the desert, the Sas-a-Shar, Vulcans Forge. This is the place where the winds meet. A storm approaches. See the lightning. Hear the bellow of thunder. The sand rises. It is a beast hunting prey. Nothing can stand before it. It shrieks out its rage…#

Amanda saw it just as Sarek described, heard Nature's fury replicated in the riotous clamour surging through the room. As the storm built so did the music. It rose to a crescendo, building and building, wave upon wave, a tempest of sound, wild and ferocious. The storm flew across the desert, increasing in power, swallowing all in its path. Ket-cheleb, the daemon lord that drove the sand howled and screeched. The voices thrummed in a savage beat. Lightning flared. Thunder roared. Finally, the storm reached the Arlanga Mountains, the black granite backbone that protected ShiKahr.

The strident voices softened into an organ-toned chord that promptly shifted into another related harmony. Stone stood before storm, veiled in a robe of clouds, crowned by a diadem of stars. The numen of the mountain, Valk'ana, met Ket-cheleb's wrath with her inborn femininity. Combined voices cascaded upward, a crystal ringing. A deeper resonance mingled with the soft chiming.

Never and always touching and touched…

Parted from each other but never apart, the Gods of earth and air embraced.


	24. Count to three, Hold your breath, Make a Wish.

The music stilled, the images faded.

Still enmeshed in the spell Sarek had woven through his fingers on her flesh, it took Amanda a moment to return to the present. She sighed: #That was… wonderful. But how…?#

#Telepathy is a common trait among us, Miss Grayson. It permeates our society at every level, including the arts.#

Not altogether surprised, Amanda questioned: #Then the missing ingredient is telepathy? Without your, or another Vulcan's intervention, I won't be able to fully appreciate this planet's music?#

With a barely perceptible nod, Sarek stepped away: #It seems so.#

His departure from Amanda's side was both a mental and physical wrench. Aloneness hurt. Cold suddenly, without him there to provide heat, she shivered in reaction and looked to the Human girls for comfort. Now the composition had ended, Amanda saw relief on their faces. Mike's eyes were also open, his impassive expression turned reflective as he gazed steadily back at her. Unaware of the secret component, and without the benefit of Sarek's intercession, he and the girls had experienced the performance as just a migraine inducing cacophony. The splendour of the vocal drama, its imagery, was lost to them. Once more, Amanda had the advantage of privileged information.

She implored Sarek with her eyes, focused her mind and sent him her thought: #There must be a way you can share this with them, with all of Earth! How can we fully understand you without this knowledge?#

#In part, that is why you are here, Miss Grayson.#

Her mind wondered if he felt her puzzlement: #In what way?#

His nod was barely perceptible: #For the association of Tehr'a and Ti-Valka'ain to succeed fully, we must find ways to bridge our mutual incompatibility. The only way is for logic and emotion to unite.#

Bombshell dropped, Sarek bowed succinctly to the class, turned on his heel, and led his variously stunned, dismayed, and pensive Terran entourage from the room.

Once in the hallway, while the echoes of his statement still reverberated through Amanda's brain, Sarek suggested they take a refreshment break. A proposal eagerly received by them all. The morning had flown by. The noon hour had come and gone and, despite the cooler air within Sar-e-Kahr the higher gravity, and thin atmosphere of Vulcan still placed a strain on less resilient Terran stamina. They needed rest and they needed food.

Again, they followed Sarek through wide, conspicuously empty, corridors, down a lengthy stairwell to an even lower level that must have been deep within the retreat. Gradually, the filtered artificial light dimmed before the pure, clear glow of what appeared to be natural sunlight. Sarek's step quickened as if eager to reach what lay ahead. A warm, moisture-laden breeze stirred Amanda's hair. The lap of water teased her hearing. Mike clasped her hand. Tara and Romani grinned at each other. In a bunch, hard on Sarek's heels, they rushed forward.

Alice could not have received a greater surprise after discovering Wonderland!

A world within a world opened up before them. A great open space – originally, a cavern in the mountain – further hollowed out over millennia, appeared to expand for miles into the distance. That might have been an illusion, Amanda thought recalling the holographic perfection of the temple on Vulcan Space Central, but even if that were so, the secret underground chamber was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen.

Amber water gently lapped a shore of rufescent sand. A stand of trees, foliage resembling blue smoke and trunks studded with two-inch long thorns, stood guard around the perimeter of the lake that stretched to the horizon. Dotted here and there purple leaved bushes and bluish-green shrubs drooped with strange gourds. Fat, black-leaved flowers, their fleshy petals the colour of pale amethyst, grew in large clusters on stones at the water's edge. Beyond the tree line, a cliff face appeared to climb toward an orange hued sky.

"This can't be real." Amanda squinted up through half closed eyes at the 'sun'. "We're underground."

"Some artifice is involved but not as much as might be expected," Sarek confirmed. "The lake is a natural artesian aquifer that supplies water to ShiKahr along with KhirAhl, a neighbouring oasis-city."

He strolled across to a nearby bush and plucked a handful of pale, globular fruits, which he shared out amongst them. "Almost everything is edible here, apart from the rocks…though some 'rocks' are not what they seem. Our flora includes several mobile carnivorous species, large enough when full-grown to overpower a small humanoid. They excel at camouflage. "

His amusement at their thunderstruck expressions and collective gasp washed through Amanda's mind. One eyebrow on the rise, he amended, "However, those specimens are carefully managed. When approaching full growth they are relocated in their natural habitat in the valley below Sar-e-Kahr."

He indicated the fruits they still held, "Please, sit and eat."

The lake proved a natural draw. They collected at the water's edge, wiggling bare toes in the shallows, picnicking on Vulcan fruits and the fat, mauve flower petals. Both fruit and flowers had an agreeable taste, though Amanda preferred the fruits, piquant flavour to the petals more coppery tang. Sated finally, she followed Mike's example, by rejecting hygiene, and wiped the last of the tart fruit juice from her chin before licking her fingers clean. Leaning back on her elbows in the sand, she watched Sarek with curious if surreptitious intent. He had eaten sparingly but with a gusto that spoke of an appreciation of good food. He washed his fingers in the water.

Amanda hid a grin. Their little sojourn had apparently concluded. Before Sarek could get to his feet and commence the tour, Amanda broke the habitual mealtime silence and in payback for the one-liner about carnivorous 'rocks' enquired innocently, "Kula'at Sarek, I would very much like to know…if I may ask? Do Vulcans swim?"

The green in his dark eyes reflected the sunlight as he considered her question with all due seriousness. "If you are asking, can Vulcans swim, Miss Grayson, the answer is 'yes', though the skill is not called upon often or routinely taught. With so little available on our world, we revere water as almost sacred. There is a cultural if not a biological embargo on using it in a frivolous manner."

Before he stood up to brush the sand from his robes, Amanda thought she saw a twinkle in the depth of his gaze as he continued, "However, as my guests you are under no such restrictions. You are free to swim if you so wish…"

Tara interjected without too much enthusiasm, "But the tour….?"

"…Will continue tomorrow." He held up a premonitory hand as they grinned at each other. "There is, however, a concert scheduled in the main auditorium for later this evening. I will expect your attendance. T'Naoui will acquaint you with the time and location."

Sarek inclined his head, preparatory to leaving them but again, Amanda forestalled him with another question, "Kula'at, if I may try your patience a little longer….? The lake here…it doesn't contain any of those walking rocks you mentioned by any chance?"

His lips curled at the corners, just the slightest amount. "Indeed not, Miss Grayson. You may be reassured. The water is a habitat for various Aquarian species, but I doubt they have a taste for Tehr'n. Enjoy your swim."

o0o


	25. Just When You Thought It Was Safe.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe.

Minutes after Sarek's departure, T'Naoui appeared with an armful of what she termed 'swimming attire', though in reality the clothing turned out to be briefer versions of the Vulcan underwear they already wore; cap-sleeved tops matched with short-legged pantalon in a buttery-coloured woven yarn. They scattered in various directions to change behind the concealment of nearby shrubs. None of them spotted the elusive perambulating rocks for which all four were profoundly grateful, though far in the distance the eerie cry of a large animal sounded distinctly on the breeze that wafted now and again through the cavern. Similarly, as Mike finally gave up trying to persuade T'Naoui to join them in the water, something large and sleek skimmed across the treetops heading in the direction of the cliffs. Whether raptor, pterosaur or gryphonit was hard to tell. Reassured by T'Naoui's lack of concern they waded into the lake.

The chill did not take Amanda's breath away, though fed from deep underground the lake was certainly cold… it was the sheer bliss of feeling water on her skin again after what seemed weeks of Sonics. The Vulcans had no idea what they were missing. With sure, swift confidence, she left the shore behind and headed for the depths. Mike matched her stroke for stroke though Tara and Romani, evidently feeling the same buoyant joy, lagged only a few feet behind. Together, as if of one accord, the four Terrans inhaled within seconds of each other, tipped heels-over-head and submerged.

Another alien world awaited them.

Pulled downward by Vulcan's higher gravity Amanda drifted on the current. The artificial sunlight from above laced through the water speckling the lake bottom with ruby fire. From just below the surface, Amanda had a panoramic view. Sarek had been right about the aquatic life. Who would have believed that a desert world could harbour such variety?

There were life forms she thought she recognised - and others she did not. Sleek, softly luminous vertebrates darted away from the upper world intrusion. Other exotically finned flutterbys, feathered gills afloat and solemn fish-eyes on the look out for a tasty morsel or two, came to nibble on exposed alien flesh. When the flavour proved unpalatable, they flapped away, tiny mouths pouting in distaste.

Then, just before she needed to breathe again, Amanda spotted what looked like a cluster of jewel-bright anemone tentacles waving in slow motion, the elongated, tubular bodies attached to an embedded lump of shiny greyish basalt half buried in the sand. A couple of swift kicks had her within inches of the outcropping. Soon joined by Mike and the girls, Amanda examined the tiny creatures in fascinated curiosity. When the 'basalt' abruptly rose from the lakebed, in a flurry of scattered sand, anemone still attached, the Humans exploded away in a welter of flailing limbs. Newly reminded of Sarek's warning, they fled for the surface.

With Mike acting as gallant rearguard, they erupted from the water in a burst of flying spray. T'Naoui, apparently lost in reflection, sat cross-legged at the water's edge. At their agitated shouts, she climbed elegantly to her feet, watching in obvious puzzlement as they finally waded ashore.

They spoke all at the same time. She listened in patient mystification as breathless and exhausted the words tumbled from them. Finally, understanding nothing of the wild garble, she held up a hand, "Gorsky will speak."

At the single command, they all fell silent. Did the entire Vulcan species have such natural authority, Amanda wondered, or maybe like Sarek, T'Naoui and Saran were more than they appeared?

Amanda watched as Mike quickly composed himself before T'Naoui's iron gaze. He would have to teach her how to do that, she thought. He inclined his head, "Kula'at Sarek warned us of a predatory life form that used camouflage to disguise its shape…"

T'Naoui agreed, "Indeed, there are several…"

"While swimming, there appeared to be such a creature lying on the lake bed. Unaware of its presence we approached. It …"

Amanda saw the light switch on behind T'Naoui's eyes. If the Vulcan girl felt any amusement at their scare, it did not show on her features. Her gaze wandered over Mike's shoulder, faintly steaming now in the warmth of the cavern to look towards the lake. The four Terrans turned also and froze in their tracks as from out of the depths, the 'basalt outcropping' complete with accompanying anemone, waded toward them.

T'Naoui's patience was again infinite, "I believe you speak of Abhijnansakuntala Sahasunaka Ihosy…a boyhood friend of the Kula'at. S/he is from Sanhyangde-minangkabau. You have heard of it perhaps. Sahasunaka and hir people live in that worlds many lakes and waterways. S/he finds the heat of Ti-Valka'ain disadvantageous. Kula'at Sarek authorized hir use of the lake…"


	26. Time Passages

An hour later, while watering the plants in the courtyard garden back in their quarters, Amanda pondered on the strange encounter. Abhijnansakuntala Sahasunaka Ihosy, (or, for convenience sake, and the inadequacy of the human memory and tongue, Ihosy for short) had proven to be an individual of impeccable manners. With T'Naoui acting as interpreter, the Sanhyangde-minangkabauan had expressed regret at being the cause of distress to the Terrans. In response, the Terrans apologized for disturbing Ihosy's sojourn on the lake bottom. They all parted the best of friends.

Amanda did not believe for one second that the meeting was a coincidence. Sarek had engineered the event. Not as a joke, though she began to appreciate how much quiet humour was part of his personality, but almost certainly to emphasize that unlike Earth, Vulcan was a dangerous place for the unwary. They needed to keep their wits sharp and their eyes and ears open. Even when something appeared harmless, or innocent, caution was still necessary. Next time it might not be Ihosy in the water but something far less friendly. Nor had he lied to them about the inhabitants of the lake. He had spoken the exact truth. Though Ihosy did resemble a rock, camouflaged s/he was not, nor had s/he wanted to eat them. It was a salutary lesson, one best learned before the training reins came off and they were free to wander on their own.

A melodious chime rang within her apartment. The sound heralded not the door as she first thought but the com. Amanda turned the watering system to 'seep' and went to answer it. On her first night at Sar-e-Kahr, she had implored T'Naoui to instruct her on the com controls so that she might put a call through to her father. While she was on Vulcan, Charles Grayson had also taken the opportunity to travel. If his schedule had gone to plan her call should have located him in the Rigil Kentaurus system. Kentauri V was a beautiful and peaceful world, a paradise just made for the energetic outdoorsman. Together and apart, both father and daughter had visited the planet several times.

Amanda was only slightly disappointed however when instead of seeing Charles' blond good looks appear on the screen, it was T'Naoui's features that formed there.

The Vulcan girl inclined her head in response to Amanda's salutation, "Greetings, Miss Grayson. It is Kula'at Sarek's request that I inform you of the itinerary for this evening."

"Thank you, T'Naoui. He mentioned something at lunch about a concert."

"Indeed. Chamsat'ash-ur is a traditional ceremony that culminates in the ancient drama of the ash-ur'i. The performance is long. It lasts through the night. Ash-ur'i requires patience. Conservative dress is a requisite. You must be certain to eat and rest before Saran's arrival at the seventh hour. He will convey you to Sar-e-Kahr's main amphitheatre via maglev. Kula'at Sarek will meet you there."

With another brief nod, T'Naoui closed the connection. Almost instantly, the com chirruped again.

This time it was Charles, "Hello darling. Sorry I didn't get back to you straight away. I was up in the mountains. You remember our last visit here together? It did nothing but rain. It's a different story this time…."

His message was brief. Electronic voice mail from planet to planet was still extraordinarily expensive, but at least Amanda knew that he was far from moping over her sudden desertion. In fact, she had never seen him look so rested. His features fairly glowed with health and enthusiasm. For just the briefest second, Amanda felt a pang of resentment, then mentally shook herself. She could not deny her father the same fulfilment that she now experienced. It was time for him to throw off the concerns of a parent and enjoy the pleasures of the single life again. And maybe, without her there to distract him his thoughts might even start to ponder the notion of romance…

That idea sparked another and summoned up an image of Sarek in Amanda's mind, which in turn reminded her of the command she had given the computer earlier that day. She accessed the programme with a quickening of her pulses but just as the information began to scroll upon the screen footsteps approached from the court outside. Mike called her name.

A single command in Vulcan saved the data for later perusal as Amanda welcomed him in. She ordered a flask of riman fruit wine and a bowl of Kaferian apples from the wall selector before they wandered outside to join Tara and Romani. Newly watered, the garden steamed with moisture redolent with aromatic fragrance from the many plants.

Once again, they sat in the little pavilion the sudden humidity a balm in the afternoon heat, and picnicked on foods from half a dozen different worlds. Amanda had heard about Kaferian apples but never eaten them before. Unlike the malus of Earth, the fruit resembled a golden-skinned tomato with a peachy bloom – but however it looked, ambrosia could not have tasted any less satisfying. With the customs of Vulcan in mind they munched on the food mostly in silence, only a moan or two of sheer gratification disturbed the quiet from time to time.

Stomachs full, heavy-eyed after their day of wandering none of them, least of all Amanda, needed any urging to return to their rooms and sleep away the rest of the afternoon. She carefully removed her gown, and kicked off her sandals. A quiet order to the computer turned the air conditioning up until a cool breeze circulated in the stifling room. Dressed only in pantalon and camisole, Amanda curled up on the sleeping dais and within minutes descended into slumber.

Only her subconscious heard the soft chime from the ska-plak. She stirred on the dais but did not rouse. Soon after, an intricate reminiscence played out within her mind.

Unlike the previous ska-plak memory, when Amanda spoke with the child from Vulcan's past, her personality now seemed to blur. There was a rush of identification, of melding into one until she was the girl. Several years had passed since the betrothal ceremony...

She had been dreaming but now she woke fully and turned on her pillows in sleepy wonderment as a voice spoke within her psyche. He conversed in the symbology and picture-talk of the mind: #T'sai, are thee awake?#

It was the eve of her Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. At dawn on the following morn, she would traverse the Sas-a-Shar with her kinsfolk to the place of marriage or challenge. After a short ceremony, the link forged when they were seven years old would bind her irrevocably with the boy chosen at that time to be her future adun.

That boy had since become a man. Even over the distance that separated them, she felt the burning of his blood, his need of her: #S'haile? Where hast thee been. I would help thee in thy anguish.#

The preparation for just such a moment, initiated as soon as she could walk and talk, came to her aid. So ingrained was the training, that almost by instinct she added her strength to his. Together they smothered the conflagration that threatened to consume him. Eventually, the flames diminished though they did not die completely. Only the Joining could accomplish that.

She controlled her own concerns, secure in his regard for her. Star light washed through the filigree screen that guarded the terrace archway. The patterned brightness illuminated the platform that she rested upon, but within her inner sight, the face of her k'diwa remained shadowed. Only his eyes gleamed hauntingly out of an ambiguous haze that otherwise shrouded him in the darkness of his disgrace.

Yet, she did not need light to reveal his features. She knew them better than she knew her own. She called forth the image of his lithe form crouched beside the dais, dressed in his habitual robes. She saw distinctly the broad forehead, the exotic face, with its high cheekbones. Green eyes peered keenly from beneath upswept brows, expressive lips parted in a knowing smile. Dark, wayward hair hid pointed ears, and brushed his shoulders in the typical style of the S'kanderai tribesmen he resembled, unpredictable as a wild sehlat or perhaps a desert storm looming on the horizon. Truly they were k'hat'n'dlawa, each of them part of the other's heart and mind, two halves of the same whole. Even before their bonding as children, her soul recognised his. Their katras had converged before. So it had been from the Beginning, a'Tha knew.

Distance had no meaning in the country of the mind. Though separated by custom – and the width of the Sas-a-Shar - they continued their acquaintance by telepathy, attuned like only a few before them to one another's thoughts.

While still a child, his nocturnal visitations had a mysterious air, as if her loneliness had called him up, an imaginary companion, a make-believe ally with whom she shared everything. With the passing of the years, his reality gradually acquired more substance; no longer did she regard him as a product of adolescent fantasies. When her parents had her attend the hall of learning in Ta'vistar Province, far from home, he became her closest companion.

Lately, because he came to her only at night, just before she slept, she had named her mystical S'kanderai tribesman Anarchya, the ancient term for Daemon. But he accepted the impudence with that same quiet enjoyment and jousting as he accepted 'S'haile' or, in unguarded moments, 't'hy'la'.

Although he had never asked it of her, instinctively she knew that he wished their mind-talk to remain a secret. Afraid of the consequences she never spoke of him to anyone.

#Where hast thee been k'diwa#, she shut her eyes, the better to see the image he projected. #I have been lonely without thee.#

Insubstantial fingers encircled her wrist. At the feather-light touch, her heart jolted. The pulse point in her throat throbbed erratically, shocked by the electricity of even that tenuous grip. Anarchya raised her hand, brushed soft lips over the tender skin of her wrist. He planted a ghostly kiss in her open palm. His skin, scented with the faint but distinctive cinnamon fragrance of the Sas-a-Shar, made her head spin. His glamour, emphasized by the onset of pon farr engulfed her, fired passions she hardly understood.

#Beloved#, he breathed beside her ear in a low, brandied tone, #sweet Ha'lei'ha, my Lady of Flowers. Will thee be kind on the eve of our Joining? Walk with me for a time as thee used to do when we were children. I would not be alone at such a time#.

She recalled earlier trysts with wondrous delight; they had conjured a world made especially for the two of them. Now, with the blood fever running through her veins, the desire for him escalated beyond any reason. With a thought, he created a portal. Hand in hand, oblivious to anything but their need for one another, they stepped through.

o0o


	27. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear

S'kros, cho'nom, T'sai Grayson. Quaer I naradzram…

The computer voice spoke in Vulcan; a wake up call. Amanda stirred, for the first time since arriving on Vulcan unsure precisely where she was. Still enmeshed in dreams of that other time, she felt a drowsy satisfaction mixed with an inner exhilaration. In all her life, she could not recall experiencing anything quite like it. Amanda could still smell the lingering fragrance of cinnamon on Anarchya's skin and feel the heat of his touch as he spread his fingers across her katra points.

All fear, all doubt had melted away with the gentle contact. She had never offered herself to anyone so completely before. A smile curved her lips as she remembered…

Ashur'a, s'kros neh kharos'hin anh'kwet romeh …

Again, the muted computer voice sounded in the quiet room.

Reality rushed back as the dream images fled. Amanda blinked and sat up on the dais. Of course, she was not Anarchya's Lady of Flowers. She was Amanda Carynese Grayson with an hour to wash and dress before Saran appeared to take them to the Chamsat'ash-uri ceremony.

Hurriedly, she rose and strode over to the wall selector. It seemed important suddenly to emphasize, if only in a small way, that she was Human and not Vulcan. So, instead of tsa'e and krayla, she returned to her roots, "Coffee, hot and sweet, please. And… some buttered toast."

After her sonic shower, she sipped the coffee while looking through her wardrobe for something a Vulcan might consider 'conservative'. All her recent outfits seemed to match the description, and nothing new had appeared while she slept. At last, she chose the set of clothes she had received on board the Insala, conscious of how the dark blue khelat, with its rows of tiny ribbon buttons, compliment her skin tone. Amanda was no longer surprised to find the garment pristine, clean and creaseless as if freshly laundered. While she dressed, her mind drifted back over the dream.

The images still felt completely authentic, more an actual memory than some subliminal wish-fulfilment. In her fully awake state, Amanda acknowledged, how much Anarchya resembled Sarek, though the similarity seemed not so much physical as psychological. Her stomach flipped as she recalled the controlled intensity of Anarchya's eyes, how the power of his gaze had seemed to pierce her to the soul. As in Sarek's presence, she felt a mix of security and excitement. Though separated by centuries of time, both had that same hint of inner passions, barely tamed. The portraits on Sarek's wall now also had identities. They were undoubtedly pictorial studies of Anarchya and his Lady.

In respect for T'Naoui's guidelines, Amanda combed her hair up but in place of the ch'ipau she had intended to use, her fingers wavered, seemingly of their own accord, and reached instead for a long translucent scarf. A fitted cap made from a similar dark blue fabric appeared the perfect accessory. She placed the cap over her curls and with a few nimble twists, an adroit turn or two, the scarf soon turned into an attractive yet discreet headdress. It also covered her ears and most of her eyebrows. Even if anyone proved more than casually interested in her origins nothing but a thorough inspection would confirm her as other than Vulcan. Delighted with her contrivance, she bustled to the apartments next door to share her unforeseen skill.

Saran appeared as expected, exactly on the seventh hour but he did not come alone. A little boy accompanied him, along with the most handsome male Vulcan Amanda had yet seen. Tall, muscular and distinguished, she watched in detached amusement as Romani and Tara almost openly swooned on meeting the gorgeous Tarok's crystal gray eyes.

Although appreciative of Tarok's undoubted magnetism Amanda had to admit, if only to herself, that she had eyes for only one Vulcan. Instead, the little boy aroused her curiosity. He looked to be five or possibly six years old, though it was even more difficult to judge relative ages with a Vulcan child than it was with the adults. Small and slight with a wayward curl to his dark hair, Saran introduced him briefly as Sibok. Amanda could not quite pin down the reason, but behind Sibok's solemn features, she sensed a lost and lonely heart. The boy seemed far more out of place there than she was.

Dressed in formal Vulcan robes, the same as his two companions, Saran handed out full-length hooded cloaks, head inclined in approval at their choice of attire.

His earnest gaze settled on the Terrans intriguing headgear. Even Mike had improvised a tasteful turban-style cover up. "I have little doubt Kula'at Sarek will value both your research and willingness to embrace our customs. The Chamsat'ash-ur represents the essence of Ti-Valka'ain traditional culture. It is Vulcan's oldest music drama, born in the era of T'plana-Hath, and continues mostly unchanged since that time."

He exchanged a glance with Tarok as he shepherded them down the hall. "It is a custom not usually shared with outsiders. You attend the ash-ur'i ceremonies at Kula'at Sarek's express command."

A comment Amanda took to mean they should definitely mind their p's and q's while in attendance.

When Sibok fell into step beside her, she returned his look of open and unabashed curiosity. His was a rare inquisitiveness among the normally reserved Vulcans. The boy's eyes sparkled with an almost adult intelligence. Small fingers brushed her palm, rested lightly against her hand. Touched, Amanda smiled down at Sibok as she warmly clasped his fingers within her own.

The boy's embryonic, untrained, mind probe might have startled her if she had not experienced something entirely more accomplished before. But even as the shield positioned there by Sarek fell into place, Amanda heard a childish voice smoothly request, #I would learn of thee, Amanda Carynese Grayson. Will thee not share thy thoughts…?#

o0o


	28. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 2)

To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 2)

She looked down into Sibok's dark eyes. They appeared innocent, ingenuous, a little confused now as the mental safeguard shut him out.

Sarek had created the inner defence to prevent the broadcast of emotional overspill from her psyche to all and sundry while aboard the Insala. It had activated first on Vulcan Space Central when Reldai Pesht'Ihai had entered Amanda's mind. Although she had given permission, the Vulcan reldai had taken Amanda's consent as authorization to ransack her most intimate thoughts. Sarek's protection had proved more than a match for Pesht'Ihai's incursion. Although it was difficult for Amanda to believe Sibok's exuberant probe was in the same league, the screen had still blocked him out. Maybe there was more to the boy than could be seen physically – or perhaps Sarek's protection merely reacted to any mental contact other than his own. In any event, Amanda could change nothing. Yet, Sibok's eyes were so bright, so full of concern that he might have offended her.

She squeezed his fingers in reassurance, "We humans don't usually share our thoughts the way Vulcans do, Sibok. Maybe we can talk to each other instead..."

He regarded her with solemn intent before he acquiesced with a small inclination of the head. Still with hands clasped, the intimacy hidden from view by the folds of their cloaks, Amanda briefly answered questions about her home and family, and received answers from Sibok in return. His voice though hushed, was courteous. In the wake of the rest of the party, they traded information. Shyly he admitted that this was his first visit to Sar-e-Kahr. Normally, his home was the mountain retreat of Gol.

He was six seasons old. The Chamsat'ash-uri was no less a mystery to him than it was to Amanda, though en'ahr'at Tarok believed he would benefit significantly from attending …

Amanda's internal database translated the term. Like many Vulcan words, the meaning was fluid. It had changed over time. Now it meant a sponsor or guardian. Long ago, at about the time Anarchya had taken his Ha'lei'ha for life-mate, the expression had a darker significance. Then, en'ahr'at transposed almost perfectly to sentinel - a 'jailer' by any other name.

Sibok's eyes searched her face as if an echo of that thought had reverberated through their clasped hands. For a brief moment, Amanda found herself mesmerized, lost in ageless depths, far too ancient to belong to this child. All of a sudden, he reminded her of someone else…

Like smoke on the wind, recognition dissipated vaporously as Tarok then Saran turned to look back. Engaged in conversation, she and Sibok had fallen behind. He loosed her fingers in an instant and though he did not seem to move, Amanda felt a gap open up between them.

The boy inclined his head in well-mannered consideration, "Miss Grayson, I would speak with thee again if that is agreeable…"

"Certainly. We should perhaps compare notes on the Chamsat'ash-uri ceremony…to increase our joint understanding…"

With a brief nod, Sibok went to join his en'ahr'at as Mike dropped into the vacant space by Amanda's side. Sar-e-Kahr's corridors, deserted when the Terrans had used them earlier were now bustling with activity. Amanda would not exactly describe the silent, splendidly poised men, women and children as a happy throng but there was definitely a buzz in the air. Hushed though they were, dressed in concealing cloaks or hooded robes, an underlying ambience appeared to unite them all.

o0o


	29. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 3)

To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 3)

In the chocolate-colored cloak, with the russet turban hiding his blond hair, Mike certainly rivaled Tarok's dashing hero look. He regarded Amanda with quizzical interest, "It seems I have a rival for your affections."

Amanda poked him hard in the ribs, "Maybe in a few years."

Mike groaned theatrically at the sudden prod, "Ouch! That hurt."

"Serves you right for trifling with my womanly honor," she told him sternly. "For some reason Sibok reminds me of someone….I just can't quite put my finger on whom."

"What, the famous Grayson intuition has finally let you down? Tsk!"

Amanda stopped in her tracks, hands on hips. "Okay, what do you know?"

He grinned in boyish good humor but kept on walking. Over his shoulder he murmured, "Who, me?"

Amanda hurried to catch up. In the same low tones she hissed, "Tell me…"

"You're lovely when you're angry, did you know? All right," he capitulated abruptly at the look she threw him, "The intonation of his name is 'Sybok' not Sibok. Hear the difference?"

The pronunciation, subtly different resonated unexpectedly through Amanda. It rang with the clarity of the ska-plak in her quarters. The name was archaic. Although it conformed to the pattern of Vulcan male names it was rarely chosen in modern times.

"You think you recognize him because he looks a lot like his father - a definite 'chip off the old block'... "

The penny dropped at the same time the shock-wave hit. "Sybok is Sarek's son? Is that what you're saying, Mike?"

"So Saran informed me. The boy's only just come to join his father at Sar-e-Kahr."

Amanda ignored Mike's speculative appraisal, her own expression carefully controlled. She had known of Sarek's marriage… no… more correctly… his bonding, she amended, a difference not only in nomenclature but also in depth of relationship. She had seen his memory as a child ascending the one thousand steps to Seleya's temple mount, T'Reah by his side. At that time, the two young Vulcans pledged their fidelity with a telepathic link, a connection that bound them to a far greater level than simple custom. According to Sarek's understanding, a bond extended beyond even death. It should not have come as a surprise that Sarek and T'Reah had children. Another thought suddenly occurred. If Sybok had recently moved to Sar-e-Kahr, did that also mean T'Reah resided there now? Despite her best efforts, a frisson of apprehension shivered down Amanda's spine. How would Sarek's wife receive her in Sarek's home when eventually he decided she was at last equipped to leave the retreat and ready to take her place in Vulcan society for real?

o0o


	30. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 4)

To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 4)

By the time they reached it, the maglev terminal was a-teem with Chamsat'ash-ur attendees. The whole of Sar-e-Kahr's residents must have thronged the platform. Again, among a small, mixed-species group of schoolchildren and their teachers, Amanda spotted the young Andorian she had seen on her first day; head uncovered, aquamarine antenna and cotton wool white hair a contrast to the more subdued hues of Vulcan robes and complexions.

Amanda's fascinated gaze roamed the maglev's huge chamber. As in other public spaces within Sar-e-Kahr, trompe l'oeil decorative scenes covered the walls from floor to ceiling and hoodwinked the mind. Light flooded the underground cavern, an ochre stream of warmth and colour. Faint music thrummed the air, intense and strong, the lilting notes of a flute woven with drumbeat and chitarrone, a harp-like instrumentakin to the ka'ithirah

The atmosphere continued to resonate with a communication that ran potent but speechless, a quiet exhilaration that raised gooseflesh along Amanda's arms.

"Can you feel it, too?" She asked Mike in wide-eyed awe.

His inquisitive gaze again searched her face before he nodded, "As if the universe was holding its breath?"

"Yes…" Amanda grinned, "You're turning into a poet, Mike. That's it exactly…"

"Not really…" He touched her lightly on the arm, " But I do get that feeling every time I'm near you, Amanda."

In mock exasperation, Amanda nimbly stomped his booted foot under cover of the arrival of the first transport tube. It floated silent as a ghost a couple of inches above the single magnetic guide rail right to the edge of the platform. As if under some psychic direction, the first forty attendees stepped forward and boarded the tube. With a soft whoosh of displaced air, it left the platform. A second tube glided up and the next forty embarked in the same disciplined manner. Saran, along with Tarok, Sybok and the four Terrans joined the end of the third group. The last cluster of attendees waited patiently on the platform as they took their seats, surprisingly well padded and comfortable.

The doors shut, and the tube accelerated away like a skyscraper elevator, rapid, smooth, humming faintly. The sudden velocity pushed Amanda back into the seat cushions. Her stomach muscles contracted as she felt the abrupt kick. She looked up. The roof, by all accounts a transparent bubble, provided a view of dusky rose skies alight with the brightest stars Amanda had ever seen.

Four minutes of gravity-simulator-style acceleration later, during which the star shine outside the windows blurred into glowing streaks, they began to slow.


	31. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 5)

To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 5)

The maglev tube banked in a gentle curve while the stars reoriented themselves through the transparent roof, even more brilliant than before; real this time, Amanda decided, and not just a holographic projection. They had passed through the mountain to emerge out into the desert. Star shine painted a frosted landscape of shadowed mountain peaks and rusty sands that stretched to the horizon.

The entrance to the open-air amphitheatre where the Chamsat'ash-ur played that evening was a narrow cleft carved by the elements of sand and wind into the heart of another towering cliff. Once inside, the fissure tapered to little more than three meters in width, while the walls loomed up hundreds of meters on either side. The cleft, twisted and turned, the only light that of the stars shining down from the night sky above them. As they slowly traversed the meandering chasm, a single drumbeat began to pound, reverberating through the gently shifting air.

A moment later, another joined it, and then another, until the rock walls throbbed with a complicated yet harmonious rhythm, the great thundering heartbeat of a planet. The sound filled Amanda's mind, sang in her blood, and stirred some deep, elemental part of her that so far had remained aloof. Caught up in the booming roar, almost hypnotized, she found herself swaying gently from side to side. Again, she seemed to sense that ongoing communion; the focused attention of numerous people like identical but individual sparks in a fire, or indistinct grains of sand in the desert. All there, and perhaps even those within ShiKahr's precincts, were one mind, one heart, one thought, and intent on the ceremony about to begin…

Torchlight flickered against the pale red sandstone through the further opening that led into the giant semicircle of the amphitheatre, large enough to hold the entire populations of both Sar-e-Kahr and ShiKahr with room to spare. Almost without Amanda realizing it, the ponderous booming of the drums had given way to the softer but no less enthralling sound of voices. The chant rose from a formless humming that rippled through the crowd before them, into a disconcerting, deep-throated susurrus that continued to transform as they finally entered the auditorium.

Cloaked and hooded, Sarek waited for them there, attended by T'Naoui. As the throng dispersed along tiered stands, he directed them into a wide aisle that sliced upwards. Tawny light from a mass of flaring torches illuminated the solemn, transfixed faces of the crowd. The attendees swayed back and forth in time to the music; one step backward, a step to the right, one step forward, another step to the left; heel and toe, heel and toe, moving in isolated unison joined as if by invisible strings, never and always touching and touched…

The sacred song's timbre altered, became counterpoint to the drums once again, the tempo quickening, indefatigable and remorseless. Sarek in the lead, with Amanda one side and Sybok the other, continued to climb upwards towards the amphitheatre's highest tier.

At last, they reached the summit of the rock face, a wide, flat plateau at their back, the semicircular auditorium before them. Mike, Tara and Romani, stood with Sarek and Amanda while Saran, T'Naoui and the Vulcan party took places on the tier below.

Unobstructed, the view from the cliff top was magnificent, and Amanda's heart thundered in time to the booming roar, legs aching from the climb, her breathing quick and shallow as she gazed down at the unadorned proscenium fifty meters beneath them.

She looked at Mike, recalling his fear of heights but his face remained impassive, a mirror image of the Vulcan attendees all around them. Discreetly, she squeezed his fingers and after a moment felt him squeeze back. He had the dread under control. He would be all right.

Sarek's eyebrow quirked upward, his hawk-eyed gaze apparently missing nothing, yet he refrained from making a comment. Instead, he held out his palm where four impressive sapphire gems glowed.

His voice, pitched at just the right intensity, rose above the singing and the sound of the drums. With a nod to Amanda, he explained their use, "Miss Grayson has clarified how our music appears disharmonious to the Terran ear. These gallenite crystals, individually modified to assist the transmission of sound, should alleviate any discomfort and allow for a … greater perception of the performance this evening."

Romani was the first to reach out and take a crystal. She gazed in wonder at the gem clasped in her fingers sparking with blue fire. "It's… lovely."

"And so big," Tara murmured with a sardonic grin, reaching for another jewel.

Mike followed her lead, curiosity overcoming his vertigo, "How do they work?"

Sarek turned to Amanda, the only one left without a crystal. A dark eyebrow arched, "With Miss Grayson's help I will demonstrate…"

Her lips parted in surprise, too startled to offer any objection, "Oh…yes, Kula'at, of course."

He cupped her chin, fingers radiating heat along her jaw. Amanda's heart thundered, air seemed hard to find – though, this time, not from climbing steps at high altitude. The sensation of Sarek's fingertips upon her skin woke a hungry yearning she had managed to sublimate so far. Her mind flashed back to the dream of Anarchya and Ha'lei'ha's tryst beyond the portal…. Ethical or not, logical or not, only the fact they were in a very public place kept the moan of desire from her lips. It took effort to look at him as he leaned in to place the crystal below her right ear. His expression continued enigmatic, though his eyes never left her face. There was no communication between them. If only her control was so good. No doubt, he had read every scandalous thought racing through her mind.

As if in answer to that last reflection one dark eyebrow flared upward once more.

3


	32. To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 6)

To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear More Than the Ears Hear (Part 6)

A muscle quivered at the corner of his mouth, generous lips curved in that secret almost-smile only she observed. Beneath the hooded lids, his eyes, shades of amber and green, flamed with reflected torchlight. "Clingstones are known for their… unusual properties. With the crystal attached, you will all hear a realistic facsimile of the sound values… transmitted via the mastoid bone. Once affixed, a gentle tap will remove it once more."

He demonstrated on the crystal that adhered like a limpet to Amanda's skin, tapped lightly, twice, with a neatly trimmed and polished fingernail.

Explosive currents reverberated through her every limb. Her pulse beat rivaled that of the drums. Blood thrummed in her veins, an instrumental melody that merged with the bittersweet song of her heart. The gemstone detached at Sarek's touch but Amanda was scarcely aware of it for the chaotic clamor within.

Confused by her unexpected response to the contact, she fought to master her swirling emotions. By the time she had gained a little self-control, the amphitheatre had fallen into an eerie silence. Standing beside her on the wide tier Sarek's smooth voice broke into her reverie, 'The performance begins. Please, be seated."

The breathing quiet stirred briefly as the audience, in unison, sat down. Amanda glanced covertly at Sarek until he turned and caught her staring at him. She blushed and instantly transferred her gaze downwards. His hands lay loosely clasped together, palms up, on his knee. Within the cradle of his long fingers, a single clingstone resided, glimmering with faint blue luminescence - her clingstone. She took a quick peek at Mike, beyond him to Tara and Romani. All sported sapphire gems. Amanda hastily looked back at Sarek's hands. Although held in the same position, they were empty.

Far below, the simple stage lit. The high, sweet call of a melancholy flute danced upon the air. A young girl, long hair bound at the brow with a ta'al diadem appeared out of the shadows.

Sarek shifted discreetly on the stone terrace. Amanda soon became aware of the heat where his warm flesh pressed against her side. His nearness left her breathless. Beneath the thick cloak, her body tingled from the contact. Clothing apparently was no barrier to telepathic communication…

#The Chamsat'ash-ur performance combines the arts of poetry, drama and music, Miss Grayson. Symbolism plays a major part. Unlike Terran ballet or opera, the lyrics, music, and dance movements of the piece depict landscape...and emotion. The subtle actions of the artiste evoke the natural world poetically in the imagination. The means of expression are limited to the absolute minimum. It is the responsibility of the observer to 'see more than the eyes see, to hear more than the ears hear'.#

Amanda glanced up at him: #Which gives Vulcans the advantage over Terrans. You have the benefit of telepathy, Kula'at Sarek…#

He agreed: #Indeed, telepathy has a part to play. But so does Vhosh'anta – observation and interpretation of nonverbal language. Within the simplest of things exists all, Miss Grayson…#

On the stage below, a withered old woman loomed out of the fiery dark… not a witch, but a god, Amanda realized with that uncanny intuition that visited her increasingly since Sarek's mind-touch. The young girl and the old women, though very different, were opposite faces of the same coin. Together they represented angel and daemon, wisdom and imprudence, rage and tranquility… the duel nature of the Vulcan soul.

#The dancing maiden is Shen'ava. She cavorts among the stars and rejoices in the beauty of the world. Der'aval in contrast signifies the jealous part of gratification. She hides away the things she worships. Only she may enjoy the magnificence of the heavens. When they eventually betray her, she destroys them for their disloyalty. Both are representations of irrational, dangerous emotions. We call them Ka'hta'pakhq, two of the gods from the Inner Chorus.#

o0o 


	33. Honored By Time

Honored By Time

The blushing hues of dawn stained the cliffs by the time the Chamsat'ash-ur concluded with the final act of the ceremony. The turbulent images of the ash-ur'i, channeled once again by Sarek, swirled through Amanda's mind. The drama - a performance of rage, desire, and passion - captivated all her senses.

The stage had become part arena, part temple, carved by wind and restless sand from the surrounding rock face. Transposed by Sarek's insight, his experience and reverence, the past came alive. The last vestiges of cool night fled before fiery day. Amanda heard wind chimes stir, felt the hot breeze upon her cheek, whether in reality or imagination she could no longer tell.

#Before thee is Koon-ut-kal-if-fee, the place of marriage and challenge. In the distant past, we…killed to win our mates#.

A distant gong resounded, complementing the lighter tones of the wind chimes. Soon after, a procession appeared among rocks at the arena's the head, four armored chariots swept in, pulled by huge beasts that reminded Amanda of the hoof-toed triceratops of Earth history. The animals tossed their great triangular heads; rough manes flying, snorting out huge plumes of hot vapor through dilated nostrils.

She hardly required Sarek's explanation that followed her gasp of shock: #They are khu'unla, used as war-mounts previously, mostly riding animals now.#

Her incredulity filtered through the link.

#Khu'unla can neither be domesticated or tamed, Miss Grayson. Their fondness for Kaferian apples however can persuade them, on occasion, to carry someone they find interesting.#

A cavalcade of mounted warriors both male and female followed behind the war chariots. The animals were not khu'unla this time but an odd amalgam; a little like a horse with a long snout, or maybe a Terran camel with a bit of giraffe thrown into the mix. They certainly looked alien with their long necks, small heads, no fur and tough leathery hides.

Sarek's thought came: #They are charah, grazing animals, first bred in the southern mountain region from this period in history – more docile and less intelligent than the khu'unla, not so fascinating to ride…but steadfast beasts.#

Amanda leaned forward on the hard stone tier better to see whom the warriors guarded so assiduously. Within the centre of the phalanx a girl rode, head high, hands loosely clasped upon her thighs, poised and beautiful beyond Terran standards. Her lissom grace invited scrutiny and admiration. At the girl's side, mounted on another charah, sat a tall and muscular youth. Amanda recognised them instantly; it was Anarchya and his betrothed, Ha'lei'ha, the Lady of Flowers.

Blinking and abstracted, Amanda stirred as if from trance. She glanced at Sarek only to find him already watching her.

#They lived long before Surak, Father of All We Became. Their story lives on through the ash-ur'i. But… thee already knows of them, I see…The ska-plak chose accurately. He is Sarekhq first of that name, a tribal princeling, she is…#

Eyes once more upon the stage, Amanda absently supplied: #Ha'lei'ha.#

#That is a denominate bestowed by Sarekhq because of the regard she bore for her gardens. Her family name is recorded as T'Piony ansho'ine ahr t'sulen kah T'Plek-ra, Honored by Time. And so she has become.#

#Their union was arranged, as is our custom when both were but seven years of age. One touches the other – as thee has seen me do to feel one another's thoughts. Their minds were locked together – so that at the proper time they would be drawn to Koon-ut-kal-if-fee.#

Below, the procession continued. Behind Sarekhq and Piony rode two more young men, friends and bodyguard, each carrying a Vulcan war axe. In their wake, the rest of the marriage party moved in majestic dignity to the accompaniment of tinkling bell banners and the sombrous notes of the gong.

At the very last appeared another warrior, armored and heavily muscled, the shaft of a lirpa grasped in his two hands.

#He is eksi'ha'vras and will act if duplicity is seen. Sarekhq was son and heir of the tyrant Surok who ruled KhirAhl, Piony the daughter of T'Plek-ra, priestess and matriarch of ShiKahr. Their Joining formed a potent alliance. Between them, they held major water holdings. It shifted the balance of power and caused a rift among the tribes#.

From out of the temple, a priestess emerged, flanked by half a dozen handmaids, every one adorned in shimmering draperies. Crystal ta'al diadems sparkled about their brows.

#Apart from the bonding ceremony, all but a few of their closest friends believed that neither Sarekhq nor Piony had met again, but both were skilled in mind-talk. Their childhood bond held true. Even over great distances they were able to communicate…and more…#

o0o


	34. The Stuff of Legend

The Stuff of Legend

Amanda's gaze shifted from the drama beneath them to Sarek's face. His allure for her grew stronger each time their minds touched. The contact appeared so effortless, so wholly natural – it seemed impossible to believe she had known him such a short time. Now, his saturnine features spoke of mysteries they shared, of possibilities known to them both, but which so far remained undisclosed.

#The world beyond the portal…#

His nod was barely perceptible: #Indeed#.

A quiver of secret excitement surged through Amanda as she met Sarek's eyes. Heat coloured her cheeks as she acknowledged the understanding that at some time previously he had also accessed the ska-plak's memories and experienced the intimate rendezvous between Anarchya and Ha'lei'ha.

Mellifluously serene, Sarek's mind-voice continued: #Separately their power was almost negligible, combined it conjured another world. A'Tha's ways are indeed mysterious#.

The sonorous words echoed through Amanda's psyche while Sarek continued to watch her, keenly speculative. The spell was broken only at the sound of chiming bells from the floor of the amphitheatre, followed soon after by the deep male tones of the gong – a signal that the marriage ceremony had ended - devoid of the violent incident half expected by Amanda.

With the guards replaced by the handmaids, Sarekhq and T'Piony, hands, hearts and minds united, followed after the priestess into the temple. In a thunder of charah hooves, chariot wheels and throaty khu'unla bellows the rest of the marriage party dispersed in the same way they had arrived.

Whispers on the wind, a contented sigh ran through the audience. Soon after, to the accompaniment of flute, drum and ka'ithirah they too began to disband in a typically orderly Vulcan manner.

Sarek stood, his hand beneath Amanda's arm. After so much inactivity, her limbs had stiffened. She discreetly stretched, taking the moment to catch her breath and reorient to the modern world.

On the return journey, isolated scenes from the ash-ur'i continued to play through her mind. She felt an urgent need to return to her rooms at Sar-e-Kahr to find out from the ska-plak what had ensued for Sarekhq and T'Piony since their marriage.

At the maglev station, Sarek detained her, fingers again imperceptibly beneath her elbow, "Miss Grayson, if you are not too fatigued, before you retire, I would speak with you about our future itinerary. The lake cavern will be most pleasant at this time of day."

Even the desire to consult the ska-plak could not compete against an opportunity to be alone with Sarek. She acquiesced with an incline of her head, "Certainly, Kula'at."

His lithe body moved with easy grace as they walked together at the edge of the lake. Amanda stared out across the water ostensibly searching for a glance of Abhijnansakuntala Sahasunaka Ihosy, Sarek's friend, while her mind skittered over one conversational gambit after another.

Sarek finally broke the silence in his usual concise manner, "You have questions to ask, Miss Grayson."

She had to tilt her chin to see his face, "You really must stop reading my mind, Kula'at! Terran women value their air of mystique."

His lips quirked, "As I have explained previously, it is not your mind but your body language I 'read', Miss Grayson."

"The Way of Vhosh'anta, a most practical skill on Vulcan," she murmured in a rueful tone. Amanda scrutinized his enigmatic features, "Perhaps someone could teach me – the finer points at least…"

"Certainly. Your observational skills appear well developed. It would only be a matter of honing your natural abilities."

"Thank you. I did have a question…" Or fifty!

"It concerns the Chamsat'ash-ur?"

"More specifically the ash-ur'i…"

"Indeed."

"What happened to them…Anarchya and his Lady, I mean? Did they 'live long and prosper'?"

The question may have been inappropriate, may have violated the strict rules of privacy on Vulcan, however, after the briefest of pauses, Sarek answered, soft voiced, and in an oddly gentle tone, "The bond between Sarekhq and T'Piony became legend. There were three children over three cycles before Sarekhq eventually fell in battle."

The shock was so great Amanda's eyes filled with sudden tears. Hand to her breast, she choked back a cry, "But … how could she live …without him?"

"Severing the link in such a way can be… quite devastating." Sarek paused to stare over the waters of the lake, his eyes shadowed. After a moment, while Amanda also fought for restraint, he faced her again, mellow voice now entirely composed, "But you mistake me, Miss Grayson. Though Sarekhq fell… he did not die…"

o0o


	35. The Legend

The Legend

"Many saw him fall. A few alleged they saw him die, including a young apprentice healer – who, according to records from that time, later became part of T'Piony's household. However, word came within a short time of Sarekhq's removal from the field of battle that he still lived, though his injuries were severe.

Legend states that it was Ayen-Valkathi, enraged by the potency of T'Piony and Sarekhq's bond – which rivalled the perfection of the gods themselves – who took mortal form and struck Sarekhq down…"

Disoriented by fear, grief, and renewed hope, Amanda questioned softly, "Ayen-Valkathi?"

Sarek's eyebrow flared upward. Without reproach, he reminded her "The Old God of fire and … renewal. T'Piony pleaded with the Old One that whatever they had done to earn such displeasure, she should pay the price.

Upon hearing her cries, Ayen-Valkathi offered her a bargain - her katra in exchange for Sarekhq's life.

But T'Piony mistook the Old One's words. The God laughed when she offered up her mortality. Only when Sarekhq stirred back to life within her arms, did she appreciate how grave her offence. One lifetime could not compensate for Ayen-Valkathi's ire. He would allow both T'Piony and Sarekhq the grace to live in Shen'ava's Gift until age finally withered them and they returned to Sha-ka-ree as must all such souls. Afterward, T'Piony would never more return to Ti-Valka'ain. Instead, her destiny would be to roam time and space, a soul on the wind, pulled by the currents of the universe until she was reborn across the vast expanse of stars on some distant planet.

Der'aval, mischief-maker, intrigued by the commotion between God and Mortal, intervened. Although she could not alter the contract, for provocation she offered a jasif crystal, blue as T'Piony's startling gaze. Within the interstitial crevices, she said, were stored memories captured through all of time when the katras of Sarekhq and T'Piony had conjoined. A thousand lifetimes hence, using the stone's assistance, the parted souls could again unite.

After many years, T'Piony had the jasif crystal created into a ska-plak. As they lay finally within each other's arms, she slipped the stone from her dying hand into Sarekhq's palm and closed his fingers about it. His mind brushed sweetly against hers one last time: #Ha'lei'ha, my Lady of Flowers…#

With the core of her soul, she beseeched him with the thought: #Anarchya, S'haile, my t'hy'la…the skies are always less radiant when you are not with me, the stars, they never shine as bright. I will not spend all my forever without you. Through a hundred million faces, you will see me shining. You know I glow when you are close. Remember me, k'diwa. Come and find me when the time is right…#

O0o

Many thanks to Mary Stacy (aka Fardreaming) for her great help in researching the legend of T'Piony and Sarekhq.

O0o


	36. Dreams Are Made of This

Dreams Are Made of This

A memory triggered for Amanda of San Francisco on that windswept day so long ago, a recollection - she soon realised - that came from Sarek's viewpoint and not her own. His thick, wool cloak swirled in the flirtatious breeze about his long legs as he strode out the Residence door and down the steps. Fitful sunlight reflected dazzlingly off the cerulean expanse of open water in the bay – a sight that still had the power to startle him - and flashed mirror bright from the highly polished hood of a luxury Terran limousine parked across the street. T'Askat and T'Vhosa with the first consignment of Consulate children had arrived - somewhat awkwardly - with the last of the furnishings.

The sudden incandescence enticed his attention away from not only teachers, children and furniture carrier but also the small inquisitive crowd gathered outside the Consulate gates.

A child leaned from the back window of the vehicle, face lit up in the reflected glow, the brightness of her fixed gaze apparently for him alone.

Before the world stilled, he peripherally noticed auburn braids tied with blue ribbons hanging from beneath a round school hat balanced perilously on the back of the child's head. She wore white gloves made from a delicate, decorative open work textile fabric – lace, the Terrans called it – and a jacket too large for the thin shoulders. She was very young, yet her clear blue eyes had an adult's directness, a sophistication that belied her age.

Caught in the moment, held by that gaze, Sarek stopped in mid stride. Words resonated in his mind…

"Through a hundred million faces, you will see me shining. You know I glow when you are close. Remember me, k'diwa. Come and find me when the time is right…"

T'Piony's last thoughts to Sarekhq as they both lay dying imprinted on the ska-plak, the memory globe, given him by T'Pau only days ago. He had wondered at such a gift, pondered on T'Pau's benevolence. As he isolated the surging emotions into the beautifully serene patterned thoughts of pure logic, he heard again the reed-thin fragility of T'Pau's voice. It was an illusory frailness, he knew well enough. Despite her great age even for a long-lived Vulcan, her will remained indomitable. It was a brave soul – or a foolish one - that spoke in opposition to that natural force.

She received him in her offices, garbed in dark robes, a small woman leaning on the carved stick that proclaimed her position as Eldest of both Family and Council. Fool he was, but despite his own desire to further his research as an astrophysicist at the Vulcan Science Academy, nothing he said had swayed her from the decision to send him to Earth in the role of junior Cultural attaché.

Her regard had scorched him more than the hot sands of the Sas-a-Shar. The coolness of her tone had seared his affronted dignity, "Sarek, child of my child, thy course is laid out. Thee may resist but to no avail. Kaiidth, what is, is."

The ska-plak, rarest of antiquities, had softened the blow. He had never held one before, hardly seen one out of its protective casing. Such devices, developed many thousands of years before, were a way to share telepathically experience and knowledge without the deep intimacy of a mind-meld. The psionic skill necessary to mind-shape a jasif crystal took exceptional artistry. Only the most adept of the Kolinahru assumed such an undertaking in modern times.

From the first moment he released the ska-plak from its case, the devise fascinated him. It gave up its secrets without the slightest resistance. Yet, not until he saw the Terran child had he realised the significance of both the gift and the memories it held.

T'Pau, of course, had accessed the globe. She believed the legend.

o0o


	37. The Flame Inside

The Flame Inside

This rage that lasts a thousand years

Will soon be done

The waiting seems eternity

The day will dawn of sanity

Is this a kind of magic?

o0o

 

"So you did recognise me."

"In what context?"

Amanda could almost see the twinkle in his eyes. She laughed softly, delighted at his joke, "At the terminal, on Earth, of course."

"Indeed."

She wrinkled her nose at him, "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

"I have the benefit of an accurate and vivid recall, Miss Grayson."

"Then why didn't you acknowledge me? Show some sign…"

"One must use one's resources in the most effective manner."

Several pieces of the puzzle abruptly slotted into place, "Is that why you chose Mike to meet me on Space Central? You were studying me! Us!"

"You have been under observation since that first encounter, Amanda. But essentially, you are correct. It was only logical to analyse your reaction... and that of Gorsky. I am considering him, with Miss Kaladin and Miss Ghoshal, as members of my diplomatic personnel. As you may appreciate I require associates of the utmost reliability and integrity."

Amanda shook her head, partly amused, partly chagrined, "I appreciate that you wanted to be sure of me - especially if T'Pau really accepts that you and I are the reincarnated spirits of T'Piony and Anarchya! But I've yet to hear what you consider true, Kula'at!"

His profile as he gazed over the lake displayed a pride that was unyielding. Despite his youthful appearance, the marks of his austere upbringing had already etched his features. He would always transmute the vulnerability of love, the passion of joy into the clarity of absolute reason. Long ago, in early childhood he had learned never to cry, not even within his private self. He had trained in techniques that helped him withstand weariness, or grief, or pain. Logic would always over-rule emotion. If he was the transformed soul of T'Piony's daemon lover, he was a far more sophisticated version.

"All life is One according to a'Tha's creed, Amanda. Similar philosophies exist on your world, I understand. Is it not part of the teachings of, for example, Buddhism and Hinduism? There were also Christian heresies - such as the Cathars, among others. Even the ancient Egyptians and Greeks…Plato's Myth of Er describes souls judged immediately after death and sent either to the heavens for a reward or underground for punishment. After their respective judgments have been enjoyed or suffered, the souls transmigrate."

"You're very learned on Earth history and religions, Sarek. But I'm not T'Piony…I'm not Vulcan." There was defiance in her tone as well as a subtle challenge.

He agreed with an inclination of his head, "Whatever the belief of others, we can only live the life given to us as individuals. You are, and will always be, Amanda Carynese Grayson, Earth-woman - as I am Sarek, ansh'oine au t'skon s'kahri T'Phra. That will not change."

Mollified, feet planted a little more firmly on solid ground, she reflected, "So, Where does that leave us? Where do we go from here?"

Keen eyes searched her face. The lines either side of his mouth deepened as his lips faintly stretched in that odd suggestion of a smile.

An eyebrow flicked upward, "Is that not a question for a'Tha? We are what we are, but perhaps… it would not be too illogical… if we both allowed a tiny flame of who they were burn within us."

He stepped closer and Amanda felt electricity arc between them. "Before I went to Earth, T'Pau implied that my destiny was sealed. Even if she was mistaken, and resistance was possible, I believe you would still be my choice, Amanda Carynese Grayson."

"Your choice?" Her heart soared abruptly with excitement and yet an image burned in her memory of Sarek as a child climbing Seleya's Steps with T'Reah at his side. "You mean as another member of your diplomatic staff?"

"Obduracy does you no credit, Miss Grayson." A bright mockery invaded his stare. He was close now, so close his cinnamon scented breath fanned her cheek, "I require you as my non-diplomatic wife."

"Aren't you already married… to Sybok's mother, T'Reah." There, it was out in the open. Amanda's hands, palms flat on his chest, held him at bay. Her eyes sparked with blue fire while the blood pounded between her temples at her own audacity.

He held her gaze. Somehow, his arms had managed to encircle her waist, one hand in the small of her back. "A…most painful mistake. We annulled our bond before Sybok's birth with the intervention of a skilled reldai. T'Reah is now Kolinahru, an Adept of Gol. She has renounced all ties and emotional associations."

Amanda searched his face, and received a frank and open appraisal that was hauntingly familiar. The arms around her were tight but she hardly noticed. "And have you done the same, Kula'at Sarek?"

"Indeed, I have."

"If I returned to Earth, would you find it painful to let me go, S'haile?"

His impressive brows drew together, "Is that what you intend to do?"

She raised her hand to brush at the wayward hair that curled upon his brow, trailed fingers across his temple spreading them wide until she encompassed his katra points. Sarek followed her example until they linked mind to mind.

Her soul converged with his across time and space: #I will never leave thee, my t'hy'la, S'haile, Anarchya…#

#And I will never let thee go, Ha'lei'ha. I have waited far too long to find thee…Even death shall not part us now.#

The End

o0o

A kind of magic

One dream one soul one prize one goal

One golden glance of what should be

It's a kind of magic

One shaft of light that shows the way

No mortal man can win this day

It's a kind of magic

The bell that rings inside your mind

Is challenging the doors of time

It's a kind of magic

The waiting seems eternity

The day will dawn of sanity

Is this a kind of magic?

There can be only one

This rage that lasts a thousand years

Will soon be done

This flame that burns inside of me

I'm hearing secret harmonies

It's a kind of magic


End file.
